Admirer
by batE
Summary: **!!! UPDATED !!!** [SLASH, EVAN/PIETRO, some Lancitty] A mysterious note puts Evan and Pietro at odds.
1. One

AN: Hi. It's my first XME story. I got inspired from reading all the wonderful stories on this board. Please review if you feel so inclined. Constructive criticism is always welcome. There is some cursing in here, but I tried not to go overboard. I'll write more in this vein if there's interest.  
  
This is SLASH (m/m, Evan/Pietro pairing). If you don't like, don't read. Thanks.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Don't sue.  
  
~Admirer~  
  
Evan,  
  
You looked incredibly good today. Not that you don't every day, but today . . . wow. I think it was the sweater. Yeah. It was definitely the sweater. I love the way it shows off your shoulders. I think blue is my new favorite color.  
  
Yours,  
  
XXXX  
  
"So . . . totally bogus, right?" Evan Daniels ran a hand over his bleached- blond locks, sighing in annoyance as Kitty Pryde scanned the yellow slip of paper that he'd found among the books and papers in his locker. "I think it's Kurt. He's still pissed at me for putting that spider in his bed. I swear, he's so obvious. I mean, come on . . . XXXX? What the hell is ~that~? He might as well have just signed his own name. I mean -"  
  
"Evan, like, calm down." The girl looked up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't think he did this. I mean, the handwriting's waaaay too neat. ~You've~ seen his writing - it's, like, chicken scratch."  
  
"So he got someone else to write it. Probably Bobby." Evan took the note again, glancing at the slightly slanted scrawl. ~I love the way the sweater shows off your shoulders.~ He looked thoughtful a moment. Danger Room sessions had been giving him more of a workout lately, and he was finally getting some real upper-body definition, but he hadn't realized anyone had noticed. "And what kills me is that he thought I'd fall for something like this!"  
  
"How are you so sure that this isn't, like, for real?" The slender girl looked puzzled. "There's tons of girls in this school - any one of them could really be into you."  
  
~Yeah, right. They're so "into" me that most of 'em won't give me the time of day.~ "It's just too out of the blue," he leaned against his locker. "One minute I'm Evan Daniels, anonymous sophomore, and the next, I'm getting love letters?"  
  
"Maybe she's just shy," Kitty said with a shrug. "It's hard making the first move. At least she's, like, trying to get your attention. I mean you've got to give her props for that -"  
  
"Kitty, I'm telling you . . . there is no 'she,'" Evan grunted. "It's a joke. I don't know how Kurt did it, but he did it. And I'm gonna get him back." The young mutant's eyes narrowed. "Don't know ~how~ yet, but I will."  
  
"I think you're wrong. I have, like, a sixth sense about this stuff. I think it's for real." She jumped in alarm as the bell sounded, signaling the start of the next period sounded. "Gotta run. I've got, like, a huge test in my next class." She started away. "See you. And congratulations," she said over her shoulder. "Having a secret admirer is, like, totally romantic."  
  
"It's not-" Evan sighed as he watched the brown ponytail disappear in a sea of bodies. He stood with his back flush against his locker, looking thoughtful as crowds of chattering students passed him by, all on their way to their various classes. Several attractive females walked past him without giving him a second glance. He caught the eye of one petite brunette, who held his gaze for a moment - a long one. He tensed as he gave her as winning a grin as he could muster, but received only a wan smile in return.  
  
The dark-skinned youth wilted a little against his locker, feeling the coldness of the metal seep through his sweater and into his skin. It was another typical day in typical Bayville High where the "ruling class" consisted of muscle-bound and muscle-headed jerks like Russ Lane and Duncan Matthews.  
  
Evan grit his teeth as a contingent of upperclassmen led by the blond and popular Duncan passed by. The "golden boy" was surrounded by a cortege of grinning, posturing fellow jocks and fawning cheerleaders, all of whom had perfect hair, teeth and bodies, and the air of vapidity and shallowness that seemed to be a prerequisite to popularity.  
  
~Plenty of girls in this school, huh?~ he thought in disgust as he opened his locker, shunting books and papers aside in a search for his gym clothes. ~Right. Plenty. But none of them for me.~ He found his shorts and shirt and shoved them into his backpack. ~Never for me.~  
  
Zipping up his backpack, he glared again at the innocuous-looking yellow paper. The words jumped out at him almost mockingly. ~You looked incredibly good today . . . Sweater. It was definitely the sweater . . . Blue's my new favorite color . . .~  
  
His eyes widened. Blue? Blue! ~Fuck.~  
  
"Kurt," he growled, thinking of the cobalt-furred German. The fun-loving boy. The perpetual jokester. "It ~is~ Kurt! Shit!" Evan slammed a fist into his locker, wincing slightly as a sharp pain jolted through his wrist. "Why didn't I get it before? ~Idiot~! You . . . are such an ~idiot~!"  
  
"Ah . . . so you're coming around to my view of things?" a teasing voice sounded behind him. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Daniels. At least you're being honest about your lack of brains."  
  
Evan groaned slightly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The smarmy tone was unmistakable. Just the person he ~didn't~ want to see. He turned and was met with the ghostly pale face and superior smirk of Pietro Maximoff. "Hitting your locker and muttering to yourself in the middle of the hallway? His Royal Baldness must really be putting you through the wringer."  
  
"Maximoff, I'm not in the mood." Evan gripped the strap of his backpack and started past him. Grinning, Pietro blocked his path. "Oh, what's your hurry, Daniels? The late bell won't ring for another four minutes. Plenty of time for you to make it, hmmm? Or are your motor skills going, too?"  
  
"Get lost, Pietro." Evan grimaced, pushing past him. The last thing he needed was to engage in a battle of insults with his longtime enemy. He had other things with which to occupy his time . . . namely how to get revenge on Kurt. ~Hmmm . . . putting spiders in his bed ~again~ would be too easy . . . maybe I'll have some flowers delivered to him . . . and say they're from ~Kitty~ . . . nah . . . he'll see through that. Maybe I can get hold of that "special" shampoo he uses to detangle his fur, and --~  
  
He broke off, annoyed and a little surprised to see Pietro again standing in front of him, arms crossed defiantly. "'Get lost, Pietro?' That's ~it~? ~That's~ your witty comeback? You're getting more Summers-like every day, Daniels. It's not healthy."  
  
"What is your ~problem~?" Evan's eyes glinted dangerously, and he could feel the sharp tip of one of his bone spikes pressing against his skin, threatening to pop out. He calmed himself down by degrees . . . no way was he going to let Maximoff get under his skin. Not today. "Don't you have class or something?" he asked in a milder voice.  
  
"Or something." Pietro shrugged nonchalantly. "But I always have time to talk to an . . . old friend."  
  
"Good. I hope you find one." Evan tried to maneuver around the lithe boy, but the lightning-fast youth thwarted his every turn. "Dammit, Maximoff. I don't have ~time~ for your stupidity. Now ~move~ or ~I'll~ move you." He raised a fist to eye-level, a spike protruding dangerously from it. "You've got three seconds."  
  
"Daniels, come off it. Put the pins away before you embarrass yourself." Pietro's expression was one of amusement tempered with impatience. "You know you can't . . . hmmm . . . what's that? Hall pass?" the sky-colored eyes honed in on the yellow paper clenched in Evan's fist.  
  
"What's ~what~?" He followed Pietro's gaze and he hastily thrust both hands behind his back when he realized what had caught the other boy's eye. "Huh? That? Uh . . . nothing. Just, um, trash."  
  
"~Trash~, eh? Well, then, you won't mind letting me take a peek?" A gray blur whipped around Evan, stunning him into inaction. "I could toss it for you, since you're in ~such~ a rush."  
  
"No! Hey!" Evan reeled as a sharp wind brushed his hand and the silver- haired mutant stood some feet away, the yellow note in his hand. "Maximoff, I swear to God, I'm going to -"  
  
". . . my new favorite color." Pietro's grin widened as he read the missive aloud. "Awwww . . . how sweeeeet. Someone has a ~thing~ for the Spyke-boy. Guess there's no accounting for tastes." The blue eyes sparkled mischievously.  
  
"Shut ~up~." Evan clenched his fists at his side. "Can you ~not~ be a total jerk for a change? Give it back!"  
  
"Awful touchy," Pietro said, waggling a finger, "over something you called 'trash.'"  
  
"Well, I know trash when I see it," Evan returned with a cold stare. "And I'm looking at it right now." He shook his head angrily and, deciding mixing it up with the speedy mutant would not be in his best interest, attempted once again to pass him. A hand darted out and caught the hem of his sweater.  
  
"Why so hostile, Daniels? You should be celebrating." Pietro waved the note in front of his eyes. "I mean, here you have actual proof that someone finds you something other than immature, silly . . . inferior . . . not often something like that comes along."  
  
"Fuck off, Maximoff." Evan sighed as he heard the strident ring of the late bell. Great. In addition to Kurt's shenanigans and the aggravation that was Pietro Maximoff, dealing with Coach Tarrif's wrath could be added to his list of "reasons why today sucks."  
  
"You're late." Pietro made a tsk-ing sound. "But then, so am I. Feel like cutting with me? There's a cool place near - hey --" he frowned mightily as Evan turned on his heel and resumed his walk down the hall. "Hey! Justwheredoyouthinkyou'regoing?"  
  
"Away from you," Evan muttered, quickening his steps. ~One day, that jerk is going to push just a little too hard, and when he does, I'll--~  
  
A slight whooshing sound was heard, and once again the snow-haired teen was standing before him.  
  
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Pietro said brightly, flourished the letter with a mock concerned expression. "You wouldn't want to leave this declaration of looooove, your sweetheart's note behind, would you? It'sjusttooadorableisn'tit? Maybeyou'llgetanotheronetomorrow. Excitinghuh?" He beamed expectantly at Evan, confident that his longtime rival could decipher his hyper-speak. "Isn't it? Rightrightright?  
  
~He knows. He knows it's all a scam. And maybe . . . maybe ~he's~ the one who did it. ~ Evan's jaw set hard as the thought took hold in his head. ~Maybe it wasn't Kurt after all . . . just Maximoff and his Brotherhood idiots being assholes. Why else would he be so interested in someone liking ~me?~ Evan leveled a steely gaze at his rival, wondering briefly how long Pietro would be able to maintain his smile with a spike rammed right down his throat. With great effort, he shook the thought away.  
  
"I said it was trash," he said in a steady, firm tone. "So you can do with it what you want with it."  
  
Pietro's smile faded. "I thought you said you wanted it back."  
  
"I changed my mind." Evan held Pietro's gaze for a beat, watching in slight confusion as the smile on his enemy's face disappeared completely, and the ever-present swagger deflated a bit. "Toss it. Or not. Whatever . . . I don't care. Just get ~it~ and ~yourself~ out of my face."  
  
Pietro started to speak, stopped, frowned, and gave the blond a hard glare. "You're a real piece of work, Daniels," he said at last, through clenched teeth. "You and the rest of the X-Jerks think you just own the fucking world don't you? Whoever wrote this," he said, brandishing the note again, "besides being totally blind, is also pretty stupid, too . . . wasting time on someone who's too stupid to even realize that -" here he stopped, frowning even more fiercely.  
  
"Realize . . . what?" Evan frowned, too, baffled by the change in attitude. There was something odd about Pietro's expression. Something flickering in the cold, blue eyes that gave him pause.  
  
"Realize that . . . that . . ." Pietro bit his lower lip hard, and hesitated a moment. "That youyouyou . . ." he halted again, running his hand wildly over his hair. "That you . . . I mean . . ."  
  
Evan's eyebrows rose. Maximoff was acting bizarre . . . more so than usual, and his eyes had turned glassy and wild. "That I ~what~? What the hell is ~wrong~ with you?"  
  
Pietro glared at him a moment longer. "The letter." He stopped again, seeming to take time to consider his words. ~Very un-Pietro-like,~ Evan decided, growing more intrigued. He took a deep breath. "This letter . . . it's . . . I mean, I know you're dense, Daniels, but don't you think this letter could be special? A harbinger of things to come? A shot across the bow, if you will? An indication that someone out there is interested in . . . being with you?" Pietro, most improbably, stood relatively still while delivering this speech, staring hard at the boy opposite him. "Reading this letter, none of those thoughts crossed your mind?"  
  
Evan's short, harsh laugh echoed through the deserted hallway, and visibly astonished his companion. ~Maximoff's being so obvious, trying to get a rise out of me over this. He's pissed that I'm not running around like "Ooooh somebody likes me!" so that he and his friends can get off laughing about how they "pulled one over on Spyke." How dumb does he think I am?~  
  
"The only thought that crossed my mind is that you're full of it, Maximoff," Evan said with a nonchalant shrug. "And whoever wrote that note is even ~more~ full of it." He took in Pietro's dark look with a degree of satisfaction. "Now, I don't know about you, but I've got class."  
  
He brushed by Pietro, who seemed to be rooted the floor, unmoving, for some seconds, but the serious-faced youth recovered in time to grab Evan's arm as he passed.  
  
"What the hell?" Evan squirmed in his grip, feeling his spikes getting dangerously close to the surface. "Let go of me, Maximoff, or more than your ear's gonna be pierced."  
  
Pietro scowled at his nemesis, looking deep into the dark eyes. He pulled him close - so much so that Evan could see a tiny, dark mole above the boy's left eyelid. ~Looks like an apostrophe,~ he thought somewhat irrelevantly. ~Geez . . . his skin is so ~white.~ Despite his annoyance, he gazed in fascination at the contrast of the brownish-black mole against Pietro's alabaster skin. ~I didn't know a person could have that complexion and still be alive . . .~  
  
"You idiot," Pietro growled, tightening his hold, his lower lip trembling slightly. "You ~idiot.~" There was a pause. Then, "Never mind. Just . . . never mind. And the . . . gym . . . is . . . ~that~ way, ~genius.~" His voice held a note of resignation as he spun Evan around savagely in the direction opposite the one in which the boy had been traveling.  
  
Disoriented, and more than a little dizzy, Evan reeled a moment, flatfooted. ~Sonofabitch. He's right. Where the hell was I going?~  
  
"Whatever," Evan shook off the other teen's grip and he strode swiftly away. He knew, however, that he'd still be in for it with the coach. Even if he did have Pietro's speed, he wouldn't be able to get changed and ready in time for Coach Tarrif ~not~ to notice his absence.  
  
~Moron,~ he sped up his movements, half-expecting Pietro's silver-toped head to pop out in front of him at any time. ~I probably should've taken the note back . . . it'd be funny to show the others how "clever'' the Brotherhood's being these days. But I am so dead . Coach T. is gonna kill me for being ~late~ again . . . Four extra laps around the gym. Fuck. And I'm so freaking tired as it is . . . and . . . if someone ~really~ liked me, they'd ~say~ something to me . . . not leave silly notes. Well, not that the note was silly . . . it was sweet, I guess . . . I'll give Pietro, or whichever of them wrote it, that much credit. They made it kinda sweet . . . woulda fooled almost anyone else.~ Evan turned a corner, droplets of sweat collecting on his upper lip. ~But if someone ~really~ liked me, I'd know it . . I'd ~feel~ it. And I don't. I don't. It's all a joke. A stupid prank. And - I'd know if it weren't, that's all. I'd know. I'd--~  
  
"Wait a minute." Evan stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes darted around, brows knitting in concentration. He cast a glance over his shoulder, his heart suddenly throbbing hard. The hallway was empty.  
  
"How the hell did Maximoff know I had gym this period?" he murmured with a slight frown.  
  
~*~  
  
Pietro, head downward, shuffled slowly - or what passed for slow with him - along the desolate hallway to his next class. He was super-late, he knew, but it didn't matter. Dr. Woosums, the decrepit chemistry teacher, came to expect no less from him. Besides, he was sick to death of watching her dentures slip out of place as she went over the elements of the periodic table. He was sick to death, really, of just about everything - Dr. Woosums, school, being broke all the time. . .  
  
~It's trash. I don't care.~  
  
Evan. If only he could be sick of Evan. Then, life would be good. Then he could rest easy. Then he wouldn't have that incredible, acute pain that went so deep inside him -- not just to his heart, but into his very bones, too. If only he could be sick of Evan, maybe he'd be free of the emptiness and the nagging ache he felt every time locked eyes with the dark boy and saw distrust and hate shining back at him. If only he could be sick of Evan, he wouldn't care that the chocolate-skinned boy had totally blown off the note he'd spent the whole morning composing . . . making sure every word, every nuance was perfect . . . making sure he could zip through the hall and deposit the note unseen into Evan's locker.  
  
If only he could be ~sick~ of Evan. If only he could learn to ~hate~ Evan. If only he could convince himself that he didn't ~need~ Evan Daniels . . . that he didn't ~want~ Evan Daniels . . .  
  
~I don't care . . . I don't care . . . I don't care . . . It's trash . . . I don't care . . .~  
  
The blond boy's words ran derisively through his head, and Pietro's forehead creased slightly.  
  
"Well, fine." Pietro looked down at the little note, contemplating the gracefully written letters, the stark contrast of the black ink against the sun-colored paper. "Then I don't care, either."  
  
He sighed softly. It was a lie; he knew it. He cared. He'd always care. He cared before he could put a name to the feeling that had been growing inside him virtually since the moment he and Evan met. He couldn't help ~but~ care. But it felt slightly good to pretend otherwise . . . even for a little while.  
  
"Hey, yo. Don't you have class?"  
  
Pietro, startled, looked up to see Todd Tolensky meandering down the hallway toward him. "I thought your optional period was fourth."  
  
"It was." Pietro sighed as his fellow Brotherhood member drew nearer. "I've got Chem now. Thinking about skipping it."  
  
"I wouldn't do that, yo. Lance'll be pissed if he finds out," the shaggy- haired youth cautioned. Pietro rolled his eyes. That was true . . . Lance Alvers, their new "fearless" leader now that Magneto and Mystique had taken their leave, was more of a stickler and taskmaster about such boring things as being on time for classes, taking tests and actually doing the homework.  
  
"Lance is pissed at everything these days," Pietro grumbled. "One more thing won't make much of a difference. Why aren't ~you~ in class, Toddie?"  
  
"I am, yo, but I'm on my way to the nurse--"  
  
"What?" The taller youth leaned close, studying the younger mutant's face. Todd seemed a little paler than usual, and he was looking a little green around the mouth. "What's wrong?" Concern colored his words.  
  
"Something I ate, I think." Todd made a face. "The tuna. Next time, I'ma tell Fred not to put so much mayo in it. That always screws my stomach up." Todd examined Pietro's serious expression. "You don't look so good yourself, yo. What's wrong?"  
  
Pietro was quiet a moment. "I just had a run-in with one of the X-Geeks." His lips flattened into a thin, hard line.  
  
"That ~is~ sick," Todd said with a grimace. "Who? Shades? Blue Boy? Miss Perfect?"  
  
Another pause. "Daniels." The words came in a low hiss.  
  
Todd's eyes widened a bit. "Oh." He fell silent, as well. "So . . . uh . . . um . . . Daniels, huh?"  
  
"Yup." Pietro turned his gaze to the floor, idly tracing a circle with the toe of his shoe. "Daniels," he repeated it softly, musingly.  
  
"So . . . did you, uh . . . do it?"  
  
Pietro's smile was fleeting. "Yup. I did it." ~Boy did I ever.~  
  
"Umm . . ." Todd looked considerably paler as he took in the slumped posture of his partner in arms . . . his friend. His brother. "So . . . did he, uh, get the message?" The loose-limbed boy fervently hoped he was reading Pietro's body language wrong, but those hopes fled when the speedster looked up, his mouth quirked into a sardonic, mirthless half- grin.  
  
"Oh yeah." Pietro opened his hand and revealed the rumpled note within. Todd stared silently, ignoring the ominous rumble in his stomach, as the note disappeared in Pietro's clenched fist. "He got the message all right."  
  
Pivoting, he caught sight of a trashcan several feet away from where they both stood. Setting his feet, Pietro tossed the crumpled paper through the air, watching in detached amusement as the object sailed in a graceful arc and began its descent. ~Up, then woefully down, down, down. Discarded.~ he thought, eyes narrowing as a flash of yellow disappeared into the waste receptacle. ~The perfect metaphor for someone who's just had his heart stomped on.~  
  
"That . . . was his answer." Pietro continued to stare at the trash can, only half-feeling Todd's gentle hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry, yo." The younger boy's voice was soft. "Did he . . . did he know it was -"  
  
"Doesn't matter," Pietro said, squaring his shoulders, "~what~ he thinks or what he knows or what he ~thinks~ he knows. 'Cause, see, he ~got~ the message." Pietro's stony, sorrowful gaze flitted down the hall, toward the direction of the gymnasium. "And so did I." 


	2. Two

AN: Well, I just saw Speed and Spyke, and it compelled me to make this into a longer fic. Thanks to all who reviewed, and please, if you have any questions, ideas or comments, send 'em to me at tercera21@hotmail.com or just review. For example, I'd like to know if people would read a slashy lemon . . .  
  
~Two~  
  
Sneakers squeaked against the none-too-clean gym floor as six pairs of feet scuffled and struggled for a scuffed basketball. Arms flailed, legs entwined, and bodies fell to the floor as a reed-thin, pallid figure drove down the court, planting a surreptitious elbow into the side of his nearest defender. With the way to the basket then made relatively clear, Pietro switched the basketball to his shooting hand and elevated, executing a neat fingertip roll that sent the ball through the net.  
  
A sharp whistle halted play, and Pietro made his way back to up the court, ignoring the sour looks of the boys he'd knocked down and jostled on his way to the basket.  
  
~Boring. Gym's boring, school's boring.~  
  
He stifled a yawn as he returned to mid-court. ~These losers don't present any challenge at all. Intramural sports . . . what's the use?~ He looked over at the far court where members of the varsity basketball team were milling around, preparing for an afterschool match. ~Now ~there's~ where I ~should~ be. Not that Bayville's the best team in the world, but at least they have guys that can throw a decent pass.~ Pietro's eyes roamed over the players, his eyes seeking out a familiar -- and seemingly missing -- blond head. ~Hm. Wonder where Daniels is. He's usually the first one on the court --~  
  
"All right, one more run. Maximoff's basket put the Blue team up by two." Coach Tarrif's phlegmy voice boomed across the gym. "Switch out." He nodded toward a group standing uncertainly against the wall. "First team, take a seat on the bleachers."  
  
The players filed off the court as six more came to take their places. Pietro shuffled toward the sidelines as the agitated voice of junior Terry McBenes growled in his ear, "You fucking play dirty, Maximoff. You kicked my fucking ankle when I was down."  
  
Pietro cast an indifferent glance at the scowling, beefy redheaded boy. "You were in my way . . . ~dude~. What'd you expect me to do? Just stand there and tiptoe around? That's more ~your~ game."  
  
Terry glowered. "You fucking think you're such hot shit because you got a little speed . . . let's see you talk so tough after school. Today. ~Without~ your little bodyguard."  
  
Pietro smirked, knowing well how Fred Dukes' very appearance struck fear in the hearts of, well, just about anyone with sense. ~"Little" bodyguard, huh? Oh, Freddy'll get a kick out that one.~  
  
"Take a seat, McBenes; you'll only hurt yourself some more." A dark eyebrow quirked upward. "You couldn't even move your slow ass fast enough to guard Young, and he's like mud running uphill. You think you can get close enough to do something to me? Keep dreaming."  
  
"Sub!" Tarrif's strident tone was aimed straight at the two boys. "McBenes! You're in!"  
  
Terry glanced over his shoulder. "Coming, Coach!" Turning back to Pietro with a sneer, he said, "You're in for it, Maximoff." He cracked his knuckles audibly. "I'd watch my back if I were you."  
  
"Thanks for the offer, but I've got better things to do. Now go on." Pietro made a shooing motion with his hand. "They're in desperate need of somebody to just stand there and dribble the ball off his foot. Your cue."  
  
Terry took a step toward him, but stopped when the coach's whistle shrieked again. "McBenes! I said you're in! Let's go!"  
  
"Coming!" Terry moved away, taking a few steps backward. His face was as red as his hair, and turned even more crimson under Pietro's bland smile. "This ain't over, Maximoff. It ain't over." He fixed the boy with another fierce glare before trotting back out onto the court.  
  
~Idiotic bullies. Boring.~  
  
Pietro ran a hand over his hair. On one of the "slower" evenings at the Brotherhood home - the cable had been temporarily turned off - Todd been bored enough -- or brave enough -- to ask the million-dollar question -- namely, why school? The four of them had gone mainly because Mystique was their principal and could smooth things out for them when things got hairy at Bayville. But now that Mystique was gone and they were on their own, why bother? As Pietro recalled, Lance's answer had not been all that satisfactory. Actually, it consisted manly of "because I said so," and a tremor that knocked what remained of the paint off the wall. The matter had, wisely, been dropped then, but Pietro couldn't help but ponder the point as he watched the still-Evanless varsity basketball team start its drills.  
  
~Education. Boring.~  
  
He didn't understand why Lance made such a big deal about staying in school. None of them really got anything out of it. He'd gone on the record saying that he thought Mystique was gone for good, so ~that~ wasn't it. None of them were exactly exceptional students . . . and all of them had an enemy - or a few - eager to feed them their teeth - rectally. School was a dead end in so many ways, and so slow and dull Pietro felt ready to scream in frustration. He suspected that the others were equally fed up -- even Lance. But he wouldn't let them drop out, nor would he give them a satisfactory reason why they should keep going.  
  
But they all had their reasons, Pietro knew, for putting up with Bayville High. ~There goes Lance's reason.~ He grinned slightly as he saw the brown- haired Kitty Pryde take a seat on the bleachers next to Kurt Wagner. ~And there's poor Fred's.~ His smile turned into a sneer when he saw the perfectly manicured Jean Grey perch next to Kurt. ~Great. If ~she's~ here, Goggle-boy can't be far behind. Time for this period to be over.~  
  
"That last basket you made was tight. You're finally learning to shake off your man on your left side. I thought you'd never get that down, man."  
  
Pietro started and whirled around, nearly colliding with Evan. The X-Man stood in his basketball uniform, a shiny, new ball tucked under his arm. "You didn't need to kick McBenes, though. You had him beat. That was just wrong, Maximoff."  
  
~And here's ~my~ reason.~ Pietro looked somber, willing himself not to notice how incredible Evan looked in the slightly too large suit. He failed miserably. ~Why does he have to be so . . . so . . .~ His eyes ranged the tawny arms and legs, and traveled upward, stopping briefly on his full lips and dark eyes. ~Gorgeous. Why couldn't he look like McBenes or Coach T.? Stocky and red and just . . .gross. Why does he always have to look like something that stepped out of my dreams?~ He started to sweat.  
  
"He was in my way," the silvery teen's voice was glacial. "Like you are. See ya." As if on cue, the bell rang, signaling the end of the period and the school day.  
  
"You're not staying for the game?" Evan looked puzzled. "Where's your school spirit, man?"  
  
"Forget it, Daniels. This team's pitiful. If I wanted to see a loser-" ~I could look in the mirror.~ "--I'd stick around. Maybe. But I've got other plans," he finished lamely, biting his lip.  
  
"Well you're so much the basketball authority," Evan said, eyes flashing, "why don't you join the team? Or do you like being the big fish on the corny-ass IM team? You afraid to kick it with the varsity squad?"  
  
"I . . ." Pietro faltered, frowning. He'd thought about joining the team, but Magneto had expressly forbidden any of them to join any extracurricular activity that required travel. He needed them to be free at a moments' notice for his "important missions." "It . . . doesn't interest me. I mean, what would be in it for me?" ~Besides getting to see you in the showers . . .the hot, steamy showers . . . naked. Hmmm . . .~ He flushed visibly and squirmed. "Uh . . . even without my powers, I'd run rings around everybody. No challenge. Not interested. Later." He rushed away as fast as he could without using his superspeed, leaving Evan to stare after him in surprise.  
  
~O . . .kay. That was weird.~ The blond bounced the ball with a thoughtful expression. Usually, he had to practically threaten to impale Pietro to get him off his back, especially on game days. ~And I teased him about the IM team . . . and he didn't go off. It was like . . . he just wanted to ~go~. And I gave him a compliment . . . and he didn't rub it in my face.~ Evan noted the angry expression and the antsy behavior that his rival had been exhibiting lately, and he wondered at it. Just that day, in fact, he'd crossed paths with him in the lunchroom, and far from making some inane crack, the white-haired boy crossed to the other side of the room, eyes cast down. ~It's almost like he's . . . avoiding me.~  
  
Evan walked slowly toward his teammates. ~Pietro, avoiding ~me.~ Huh. Never thought the day would come.~  
  
Yeah, having the speedster off his back was something he thought would never happen. Yet now it appeared that it had.  
  
He glanced down at the ball in his hands, the surface of which felt uncomfortably rough on the flesh of his palms. ~Pietro's avoiding me. Good. That's a good thing, right?~  
  
Right. He rubbed his neck, scowling. It was a ~great~ thing. . . so why did he feel so let down?  
  
~*~  
  
Pietro fled to the quiet sanctity of locker room, which was empty, save for a stoned-looking junior sitting with his back pressed against a locker. Pietro stepped over the boy and yanked open his own locker, hastily stripping off his sweaty gym clothes.  
  
~Gah. That was close.~ He drew out his normal attire and began to change. ~What the hell were you thinking?~ he inwardly chastised himself. ~You know that "Evan" and "shower" is a dangerous combination.~  
  
Pietro leaned his forehead against the door of his locker. His head was pounding fitfully, as were other parts of him that he preferred not to think about. ~Great. Just perfect. Everything was fine, day was almost done, and then ~he~ comes in and fucks it all up.~  
  
"Afraid to play with the varsity team? Yeah right," he growled aloud. "Fuck you, Evan. Just . . fuck you."  
  
Those words prompted a thoroughly improper image to take shape in Pietro's brain. He groaned. The throbbing got worse . . . everywhere.  
  
~This has got to stop.~ He quickly yanked up his jeans, having a little trouble with the zipper, and pulled on his sweater. ~It's just got to.~ Ever since the "letter incident," he'd gone out of his way to keep Evan off his radar. Seeing him just hurt too much. Every time he looked at him, Pietro saw Evan shoving him out of the way, crumpling up the note . . . telling him to get of his face.  
  
He looked at Evan, and he saw rejection, rejection and more rejection. And it hurt. It hurt badly.  
  
~Dammit. Why'd he have to talk to me? Why couldn't he just go over and start taking practice shots and ignore me like he usually does?~ Pietro shut his locker with a resounding bang. The stoned-looking junior didn't move a muscle. ~Why's he have to look so hot in that uniform?~  
  
~Why can't I just get a life?~  
  
Grabbing his bag, he exited the locker room, hearing the roar of the crowd and the boom of the band as the game prepared to get under way. He wavered a moment, sorely tempted to go in and watch the action. It wasn't as if there was anything better to do at home . . . and there was nothing like a nice sporting event to take a mind off one's troubles.  
  
Except, of course, in ~this~ sporting event, his troubles would be on full display, running up and down the court, a maddening blur of blond and brown.~ Unstoppable. Untouchable.  
  
~Untouchable. Yeah. Tell me about it.~  
  
Pietro walked quickly toward the flashing, red exit sign and strode out of the school without looking back.  
  
~*~  
  
"You rule, mein freund! Twenty points is awesome!" Kurt pounded Evan's back as the two walked slowly across the school parking lot toward the X-Van. "You keep this up, Bayville vill be in ze championship for sure!"  
  
"Thanks, man." Evan looked ahead at Jean, Kitty and Scott chattering away. "It'd be cool to win it all this year. Put this school on the map."  
  
"That vould be something," Kurt said, nodding. "Something good for this town for a change, instead of ze usual unexplainable earthquakes, vierd red beams, flying objects and other . . . odd stuff Bayville's known for." He chuckled.  
  
"You know?" Evan laughed along with his friend. "Making the paper over something normal would be a nice change of pace."  
  
"Yah. But not likely vith ~them~ around." Kurt nodded toward the edge of the lot, where a lone green Jeep idled. Evan's eyes widened, then narrowed as he saw the occupants of the vehicle - Lance Alvers and Fred Dukes sat slumped in their car, looking impatient.  
  
"Can you believe he vent back to them?" Kurt shook his head slowly, eyes trained on the slouched figure of Lance. "I thought he vas doing good vith us. And Keety liked him vell enough." There was a trace of bitterness in the last statement.  
  
"I don't know man. It's weird." Evan saw Lance nod perfunctorily at Scott and the girls. The dark-haired mutant's eyes lingered on Kitty for a moment. Evan sighed. It had been a little strange to have "Avalanche" as a member of the X-Men, but Kurt was right -- the rock tumbler had done pretty well. But then he'd left . . . and Evan suspected that had more to do with his affection for the Brotherhood than with anything the X-Men had done to tick him off. And, as Kurt had said, Kitty ~did~ seem to be sort of sweet on him. Evan watched as Scott and Jean climbed into the black van. Kitty hung outside the vehicle for the moment, her head turning in the direction of the Jeep before she turned away and climbed in.  
  
"You never know about the Brotherhood," Evan continued with a frown. "One second they're fighting us, next second they're trying to date some of the girls. And every third second they're trying to pull the wool over your eyes, like Pietro and his little stunt."  
  
"Huh? Was ist? Vot did Pietro do now?"  
  
"Okay, check it: I got this note in my locker the other day." The two slowed their movements a bit, loitering near a dark-blue Camaro. "And it said -"  
  
"Vot? A letter? The letter from ze secret admirer?" Kurt's eyes twinkled. "Ze hot love note? Keety told me about it."  
  
"There ~is~ no admirer, secret or otherwise," Evan said in exasperation. "It was Pietro!"  
  
Kurt looked utterly confused. "Pietro . . . sent you a love note? Um . . . vhoa. I mean I guess . . . um . . .vhoa." He fiddled nervously with his holowatch.  
  
"It was a joke, Kurt. The letter was just a joke. There's no person who likes me," Evan explained with a frown. "I don't know if he's the one who actually wrote it or if it one of the other Brotherhood weirdoes, but he was behind it. And I saw through it . . ."  
  
"Vait, I don't get it." Kurt leaned against the car. "You get a note, and it says it's from a secret admirer . . . and it vasn't veally? It vas Pietro the whole time?"  
  
The blond nodded. "And now he's pissed, because his little joke bombed."  
  
"Pissed how?"  
  
"Just . . ." ~Not talking to me . . . crossing to the other side of the hall when he sees me . . . today in the gym . . . ignoring me. . . he's never ~ignored~ me before. Antagonize? Yes. Ignore? No.~ ". . . Being weird. I dunno. It's hard to explain -''  
  
The honk of a horn cut him off. He and Kurt looked up to see Scott frantically waving at them and the girls looking perplexed. The two walked on.  
  
"He's just acting strange. But anyway, it looks like the Brotherhood's back to their old tricks," Evan said. "And for a minute there, it looked like they were starting to mellow out."  
  
"I guess." Kurt still looked perplexed as they reached the van. "But it is veird, though. Vhy vould Pietro act strange about vun joke?"  
  
Now it was Evan's turn to look puzzled. "Huh?"  
  
"I mean, he ~is~ Quicksilver . . . he gets bored very easily, no? Goes from vun thing to ze next like that!" He snapped his fingers.  
  
"Yeah . . ." Evan's voice was low, wary.  
  
"Vell . . . it doesn't seem like him to dwell on any vun thing," Kurt said with a shrug. "So you catch his little joke . . . he just goes on to another, right? Vhy be mad about this vun?"  
  
"Well, I . . ." Evan began, and then stopped, his brow furrowed. "Um . . . maybe because . . . uh . . . I dunno, man. Like I said, the Brotherhood was mellowing out for a minute there. Maybe he's slowing down a little."  
  
"Maybe." They reached the van and it slid gently open, helped along by Jean's telekinesis. "But I don't think zo. It doesn't fit."  
  
"But . . ." Evan watched Kurt disappear into the dark confines, his forehead still creased in concentration. "It doesn't make sense otherwise," he said into the darkness.  
  
"Like, what doesn't make sense?" Kitty peered around Kurt, her eyes inquisitive. "Oh, and great game today, Evan. You, like, totally held it down out there."  
  
"Uh, nothing. Thanks, Kitty." He scrambled into the van next to Kurt, and buckled up as the door clicked shut.  
  
"Yeah. You were handling it," Scott said, shifting the van in gear. "Everything okay? You guys were kinda dragging back there." His ruby-quartz glasses glinted in the rear-view mirror.  
  
"Uh, yeah." Evan glanced out of the tinted windows. The Jeep was still idling, and Lance and Fred sat there, alone. No Todd, which was strange. No Pietro, either, which was stranger.  
  
He shook his head slowly as the X-van pulled out into the parking lot.  
  
~I've got other plans.~  
  
And then an empty space where a human being used to be.  
  
Evan leaned back in the plush seat, closing his eyes. No. It just didn't make any sense . . .  
  
~*~  
  
"Awright, we'll give him five more minutes, then we bail. Iron Chef's on in 15 minutes!" Fred groused, shifting in irritation. "It's not like he had detention. What the hell's taking him so long?" He looked expectantly at Lance, but the older boy remained silent, staring straight ahead. "Lance? Hey . . . you all right?"  
  
Lance blinked. "What? Oh, uh . . . yeah. Yeah, I'm cool." He put a hand to his head, wincing. "Just got a headache, that's all."  
  
"Uh . . . okay." Fred glanced sideways at the rangy teen. He'd noticed the look that had passed between the Brotherhood's nominal leader and a certain bone-thin sophomore X-girl. Fred understood. Even now, even after everything that had happened, his heart still thumped whenever Jean Grey flounced his way. But ~that~ had been different - the redhead had just teased him . . . she'd never been interested in him at all.  
  
From what he could glean from Lance's tales of being in the X-Men - albeit for a limited time - and from his own observation, Fred could see that Kitty Pryde was into Lance. And it was common knowledge that he was into her. Yet he'd left the X-Men and came back to Brotherhood. ~Blood's thicker than Xavier,~ he'd said when he returned. Fred had understood that, too. Though none of the members of the Brotherhood were related, after all of the nonsense they'd gone through, they might as well be. The Brotherhood was Lance's family; the X-Men were not. It was that simple.  
  
Still, Fred saw the way Kitty and Lance looked at each other . . . and he had to wonder . . .  
  
"Hey! Sorry I'm late, yo!" Todd came bounding up to the Jeep, out of breath. "I was, y'know, held up . . ."  
  
"Whaddaya mean?" Fred glared at him as he bounced in beside Lance. "You been messing around with the sprinklers again?"  
  
"Hell no. Just doing stuff." Todd wriggled in his seat. "Stuff. Y'know? Let's be out, yo. It's WWF night."  
  
"Yeah! That's what ~I'm~ talking about." Fred grinned as Lance put the Jeep in drive. "Hey . . . we waiting for Pietro?"  
  
"No." Lance backed slowly out of the parking lot. "I saw him zip outta here after school. He's probably home by now."  
  
"And he didn't wait for us?" Fred sounded almost outraged. "That little sneak. I bet he's at home eating all the food! I'll flatten his bony ass if he touched my pecan twirls."  
  
"Looks like it might be WWF night ~inside~ the house, too." Lance's grin was lopsided and half-hearted. Todd discerned it, but his mind was elsewhere -- namely on the conversation he managed to overhear while skulking around in the parking lot, looking to let the air out the tires of Duncan's Mercedes.  
  
~It was a joke, Kurt. The letter was a joke. And I saw through it . . .~  
  
He'd crouched behind the Camaro, holding his breath, straining to listen. It was all he could do to keep from popping up, grabbing Daniels by his scrawny neck, and screaming, "It's no joke, asshole! Pietro's sprung over you! Come over one night around two in the morning and listen outside his door, and you'll hear just ~how~ sprung he is when's he jacking off and calling out ~your~ fucking name!~"  
  
But he didn't say anything. He just squatted there, listening, growing more and more agitated with every word.  
  
~Daniels doesn't know this is for real. He thought it was a gag . . . and Pietro doesn't know it. But now I do.~  
  
"Dammit," Todd muttered under his breath. "He's not worth it, Speed. He's too clueless for you. You could do so much better."  
  
"What'd you say?" Fred asked, leaning forward. Lance aimed a curious glance Todd's way, but quickly turned his eyes back to the road.  
  
"Uh . . . nothing, yo. Just mumbling to myself."  
  
Todd turned to stare out of one of the Jeep's open panels, his shaggy hair blowing in the breeze. The scenery passed in a shapeless haze, all melding together in one colorless, transient blend. ~This must sorta be what it's like for Pietro, when he runs. Kinda depressing,~ he mused. ~I wonder if he ever thinks about all the stuff he can't see . . . all the stuff he just passes by while he's rushing on the way to something else . . .~  
  
The younger boy doubted it. Pietro wasn't much of a noticer, really, unless it had something to with a mission, a challenge or Evan Daniels.  
  
~Evan thinks it's a joke. He thinks it's a joke, Pietro. That's why he did what he did. Why he said what he said. . .~  
  
But, of course, Pietro had no way of knowing that. Evan sure as hell wasn't going to tell him, and neither would the fuzzball probably. So Pietro would never know what ~really~ went down with Evan and the letter. Unless . . .  
  
~Fuck!~ Todd jammed his hands in his pockets and tried to make himself as small as possible in the passenger seat. ~I hate it when it's all up to me . . .~ 


	3. Three

AN: More Lancitty! And the plot thickens. Thanks to all who reviewed. Again, any questions, comments, etc. can be submitted via review or by emailing me at tercera21@hotmail.com And a special thanks to Solitary Flame for just being cool and awesome and a great writer and schtuff.  
  
  
  
  
  
Three  
  
"Yeah, some of the kids from the Institute were there. It was cool."  
  
Evan relaxed in his airy bedroom, reclining against the headboard, twining the phone cord around his wrist. The postgame, evening phone calls home were more ritual than formality, and he was glad of that. Sometimes he'd get so homesick for the relatively carefree existence he'd led in New York City with his parents, his friends, his basketball teammates - all the things he took for granted before his powers began to emerge and everything changed. Though he'd grown more accustomed to his new life at the institute, he still yearned for the city, fearing that the longer he stayed away, the more he'd forget the old times and the more the old times would forget him. But there were some things that hadn't changed - that would never change - and his phone calls home after basketball games reminded him that his link to the old times - some, anyway -- was secure.  
  
"Yeah, next Monday night at seven. Right. Auntie O and the professor'll be there, too. But tell Dad he can't bring his video camera into the school. Too, um, you know. Uh-huh. Huh? Oh, yeah, I got it yesterday. Thanks. I've needed a new board. My old one . . ."  
  
A soft knock cut into his words. Evan sat up slightly. Dinner time. Finally.  
  
"Just a second," he said, turning to the door. "Mom, I'd better go. I think it's time to eat. Okay. Love you, too. Right. Bye."  
  
He placed the receiver down with a sigh and swung his legs off the bed. "Come in."   
  
Kitty did just that - phasing through the closed door. "Hey, Evan," she said. "Are you, like, busy?"  
  
"Nah." He stretched his arms above his head. "I was just talking to my folks about the game."   
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, looking chagrined. "I didn't mean to interrupt."  
  
"It's cool. We were just finishing up," he said, standing and massaging the back of his neck. "I'm starved. Dinner ready?"  
  
"Almost. Storm said another ten minutes."   
  
Kitty took a seat on the edge of the bed, her forehead puckered in a thoughtful frown.   
  
"Ev, I just had, like, the weirdest conversation with Kurt."  
  
"And that," Evan said, "is different from every other conversation with him . . . how?"   
  
That made her smile, though a bit uncertainly.   
  
"Yeah, you know?" she said. "But we were, um, talking about the letter? You know, the one you got in your locker the other day?"  
  
His grin immediately faded. "Yeah? What about it?"   
  
"Well, Kurt said that you told him that, um, Pietro wrote it?" She paused. "Um, that's kind of . . ."  
  
"It is not what you think," he said, sighing and plopping down beside her. "It was a joke, like I told you before. It's Pietro's -- or one of the other Brotherhood weirdoes' - new brand of X-Men torment."  
  
"But it's not like, you know, they're fighting us anymore," she said. "I mean they even seem kind of, well, friendly sometimes."   
  
She noticed the disbelief in his look and just shrugged. "I said, 'sometimes.' "  
  
"Okay, look: I know that since the thing on Asteroid M went down, they've been kind of chill," Evan acknowledged. "But the Brotherhood is ~still~ the Brotherhood. And more important, Pietro is ~still~ Pietro."  
  
"Yeah, but . . ." Kitty hesitated, picking at a loose thread on his bedspread. "It's just weird, you know? I think the Brotherhood has other things to worry about than playing lame jokes."  
  
"Like?"  
  
"Like, I don't know, getting food, paying utilities. Trying to keep the house from being condemned. Did you know that Mystique left them with, like, nothing?" Her blue eyes blazed with a sudden anger. "Their house is totally falling apart, and--" She shifted uneasily under his amazed stare. "What?"  
  
"How do ~you~ know so much about what the Brotherhood's up to these days?"  
  
"Um . . . you hear stuff," she said vaguely. "But anyway, about the note. Like, why does it have to be a joke? Why's it, like, so hard to believe that someone likes you?"  
  
"Because it's . . ." ~never happened before~ " . . .just too weird. I don't know. There was just something strange about that note."  
  
"Strange? Like, how?"  
  
"Just . . . strange. I can't really explain it," he said. "It didn't feel right. Look, can we not talk about it? It's too stupid to keep going over."  
  
"But . . ." she began, but stopped, staring down at the ground for a moment. "All right. If you don't want to, we won't."   
  
Her whole manner changed suddenly, and her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Look, Evan. I actually wanted to ask you, um, if you could, um, walk me to the library. After dinner."  
  
"The library?" He looked confused. "At seven o'clock at night? Is it even open then?"  
  
"The one near Bayville U. is." She looked a little uncomfortable. "~Please,~ Evan? I really need to go . . ."  
  
"Well, why don't you just go?" he asked. "I mean, our curfew's not 'til nine . . ."  
  
"Because if the others find out I'm going, they'll want to go, too." Kitty's eyes darted nervously around the room. "And I don't want that. Jubilee and Rahne already, like, asked me what I was doing tonight . . ."  
  
"But you want ~me~ to go?"   
  
"Well, yeah. We have Social Sciences together. We can say we're going to work on a project. That way, it'll just be us."  
  
"Lie? You mean lie?" He gave her a searching look. "Why would we need to ~lie~ if I'm just walking you to the library? It's just the library, right?" He looked hard at the girl, who was squirming. "Right?"  
  
"It's just that I'm kinda supposed to meet someone there," she said, "and I don't really want anybody to know." She shifted from one foot to the other, "And so I figured that if you came with me, it'd, like, chill everybody out. You know that Logan doesn't like any of us to go out alone."  
  
He sat up straighter. "You're meeting someone? Who?"  
  
Kitty glanced at him, then quickly away. "I can't tell you here. Jean, like, is totally close by, and the Professor -"  
  
"Jean was helping Auntie O with dinner, and you know Professor X doesn't pry into people's minds without getting the go-ahead . . ."  
  
"Kitty! Evan! Dinner time!" Ororo's voice wafted from the staircase, startling them both. "Come on now, before the food gets cold."  
  
"Comin' Auntie!" Evan called back. Turning quickly to Kitty, he raised a brow. "Well?"  
  
"Okay, okay." She hesitated a split second. "It's -- it's Lance."  
  
"Alvers?" He watched her nod slowly, face turning bright red. Evan was conscious that he didn't feel very surprised, but confusion ranged through him. "But why? You trying to talk him into coming back?"  
  
"No, no. He . . ." She was quiet again, looking down at the ground. When she looked up, her expression was mixture of hope and anguish.   
  
"He and I are together," she said at last. "We have been for almost two months. And if anybody finds out, it could ruin ~everything.~"  
  
~*~  
  
  
"You want me to do ~what~?"  
  
"~Talk~ to him, yo. Tell him how you feel."   
  
Todd crouched lazily on Pietro's bed, his pale-green eyes resting thoughtfully on his friend's white hair.   
  
"To his ~face,~ Quickie," he went on. "That way, you don't get any mixed signals, no way to misunderstand. You put stuff in a letter, and stuff can get mixed around real quick. I mean, you shoulda ~heard~ him talking to Blue Boy about it. He had ~no~ clue."  
  
~Ah, Evan. How can someone so beautiful be so dense?~   
  
"Listen - there was nothing ~wrong~ with my letter," Pietro said, hugging a pillow to his chest. "It was short, sweet, to the point: Daniels totally missed the subtlety in it."  
  
"That's the point," Todd said, hopping off the bed. "Subtle. That ain't ~you,~ yo. You ~ain't~ subtle. That's one of the things I respect about you - you speak your mind, doesn't matter who it is - Lance, any of the X-Geeks, Mystique -- I never gotta wonder what you're thinking . . . you ~always~ put it out there."  
  
~Wrong. Toddie. So wrong.~ Pietro smiled briefly. ~I ~don't~ say everything that's on my mind . . . if I did, I'd have been dead a looong time ago . . .~  
  
"Writing about how much you like his sweater? Come on, that ain't your style," Todd said with a shake of his dirty-blond hair. "I'd think it was a joke, too, if I hadn't seen you write it. And then you teased him about it--"  
  
"It wasn't ~teasing.~ I only wanted to get his reaction."   
  
"That it made it worse. You shoulda just left him alone," Todd went on. "I know that's real hard to do where Daniels is involved, but that way, he mighta still thought it was made up, but he probably wouldn't've thought ~you~ were the one that did it."  
  
"But he doesn't necessarily think that now," Pietro said, rubbing his chin. "You said he told Fuzzy that it could be ~me~ or any of us."  
  
"Yeah, but ~you're~ the one with the grudge," Todd replied. "And you're the one who needled him about it. And ~you're~ the one who's 'acting weird,' according to him."  
  
Pietro's head snapped up. "Evan said that I was acting weird? He ~said~ that?" ~He's noticed my change in mood! Not even Fred or Lance has said anything, and they live with me!~ "Really?"  
  
Todd nodded. "Sometimes I think he's just as obsessed with you as you are with him. I saw y'all in the gym this afternoon before the game. When you left, I swear he was staring at your ass."  
  
"Whaaaaaat?" Pietro's jaw dropped. "Uh." He reeled at the thought. ~Evan? Looking at me? He said . . . he told me I made a nice shot . . . he was ~there~ . . . he was watching ~me~ play . . . Maybe . . .~ "Where were you? ~I~ didn't see you in the gym."  
  
"Under the bleachers, picking up change."  
  
Todd plunged a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a fistful of quarters and dimes.   
  
"It's like Treasure Island down there, yo. Especially on game days. Anyway, I saw you two talkin' and then you walked away, and Daniels' eyes did like this." The younger mutant's sea-green eyes made a downward progression. "I ~don't~ think he was checking out your sneakers."   
  
With difficulty, Pietro stopped the silly grin that was that was threatening to overtake the lower half of his face. ~No. ~No.~ Will ~not~ get my hopes - or anything else - up.~   
  
"All I'm saying is that if you want him to like ~you~, you gotta ~act~ like you," Todd said. "And that means no more of this tiptoeing shit. It means going up to up to him and layin' it all out there."  
  
"And then ~I'll~ get a chance to stare at ~his~ ass when he runs screaming away from me." Pietro said, slowly shaking his head. "I can just picture it: 'Hey, Evan, you're right - I did write that letter. I've been in love with you since third grade. Yeah, yeah . . . I know that I've had you arrested and have tried to seriously maim you and your friends on several occasions, and yes, I do understand that we're both guys, but life's funny and I love you. Kiss me, you fool.'"  
  
Todd was quiet a moment. "Not bad. Lose the maiming thing, and you might have something to work with. Whatever . . . just ~talk.~"  
  
"Hmmm . . . I'll give it some thought." Pietro closed his eyes for a split second. Opened them.   
  
"Okay, thought about it. Answer's still no."   
  
"You're hopeless, yo." The younger teen's sigh was long and resigned. "You're gonna keep banging your head against the wall until you knock yourself out. If you wanted --"  
  
"Shh!" Pietro sat straight up suddenly, waving Todd into silence. "You hear that?"  
  
"Hear what?" Todd's head whipped around the room. "What?"  
  
"Shhhhhhh! That!" Pietro's head tilted in the direction of a low warble coming from the outside his door. "~That!~ He's doing it again!"  
  
Todd strained to hear. "Sounds like cats being strangled, yo."  
  
"Close. It's Lance . . . ~singing.~"   
  
Pietro grinned, getting up to open the door wider. The sounds of water running into the sink, shattering glass, and the off-key strains of "Danke Schon" drifted down the shadowy hallway from the direction of the bathroom. "And he sounds . . ."  
  
"Awful, yo," Todd said, placing his hands over his ears. "Where's a gong when you need it?"  
  
"Yesssss . . . but more than that," the speedster continued, looking thoughtful. "He sounds . . . ~happy.~ I wonder why -"  
  
The singing stopped abruptly, and a moment later, footfalls sounded down the hall, leaving a trail of pungent-sweet cologne in its wake. Pietro stuck his head out the door in time to see a brown-mopped head disappear down the staircase. His footfalls retreated down the stairs and receded from hearing seconds before the front door slammed.   
  
"Annnnd, he's off. Second time this week he's taken off after dinner. And without so much as a good bye." Pietro's voice sounded strangely detached, almost uninterested. "It's past seven . . . he's all spiffed up, smelling like one of those magazine inserts, acting shifty and singing lounge songs. And secretive -- so very secretive. You know what that means, Toddie?"  
  
"Um, a date?"  
  
"No, no . . . a ~challenge,~"   
  
Pietro smoothed back his hair, the familiar half-smile working its way back to his face. "And I thought tonight was going to be dull. I have my own ideas on where he's going, but there's only one way to be sure, so . . .don't wait up. " He moved toward the door.  
  
"Wait a minute. We ain't done talking. What about Daniels? What are you going to do about Daniels?"  
  
Pietro halted halfway through the door, one hand still on the doorknob.   
  
"What am I going to do about Evan," he repeated softly. "Well, the same thing I ~always~ do, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an Avalanche to track."  
  
There was a rattle, a gust of wind, and then silence.  
  
Todd glared at the door a long moment. The air in the room was still whirling from Pietro's departure.  
  
"The same thing you always do?" he grumbled, sinking back onto the bed. "Right. Nothing."  
  
~*~  
  
"I just think you're overreacting, that's all."   
  
Evan took Kitty's elbow as they maneuvered around benches and trashcans along a tree-lined path. His steps were a little unsteady -- he was more used to navigating the passageway on his skateboard rather than on foot -- but bringing his board along would have blown their "studying" cover. "We all know Alvers isn't a bad guy. Even though he's back with the Brotherhood, doesn't change what he did for Jubes, Ice and Berzerker back when he was with us."  
  
"Yeah, I know . . . but it's still a little weird," Kitty said with a sigh. "Scott still totally ignores him and I know that Jean thinks he's waay too old for me. And Kurt . . . well, he just doesn't like him."  
  
"Scott has a history with Alvers that's gonna take a long time to disappear," he said as they crossed a street and turned onto the green, sprawling campus of Bayville University. "And with Jean, why listen to her? She's dating Duncan -- the biggest jerk in Bayville. And yeah, I know how Kurt feels."   
  
They walked on a winding path toward the squat, brick library. "But forget all that -- it's just kind of strange, that's all. I mean, you meet this guy and he nearly killed you and your family. ~And~ Jean. That's some rough stuff to overcome."  
  
"Well, yeah. I know. And we talk about it . . . sometimes." Kitty's eyes clouded over a moment as she remembered the events that took place at their old school. "He honestly thought he was trying to help me by, you know, trying to destroy the stuff he thought was hurting me," she said softly. "And I know that what he did was, like, so wrong . . . but . . . well, I forgive him. I know enough of him now to know that he never meant to hurt anybody back then - he was just confused. Even when I first heard that he was in Bayville, I couldn't stay mad or scared of him. I couldn't hate him."   
  
"I . . . guess I can understand that," Evan said with a furrowed brow. "But don't you think the others would get it? I mean, they got to know him better, too. And it beats sneaking around. They won't exactly love him if they find out what you're doing to see him."  
  
"But it's not just ~me~," she replied. "Things were rough for him when he went back to the Brotherhood. Do you know that the others had a vote to let him back in? It was 3 to 1 to take him back."  
  
Evan was quiet. Lance had ditched his friends without so much as a goodbye - that much he'd overheard from Todd and Fred. That they'd even considered letting him back into the Brotherhood was still something of a mystery to him. "Who voted against him?"   
  
"I don't know. I have an idea, but he won't tell me." They veered to the right, heading toward a small clearing near the main entrance to the building. "But things are finally getting back to normal - or whatever - there, and he doesn't want to rock the boat," Kitty said. "Any of the others see him with me, well, it'll just be awkward, you know? They still see us as their enemies, and I know that most of the guys at the mansion think the same about them."  
  
"But you told me. Why?"   
  
"Well . . . because I know you won't snitch. And you were fair to Lance when he was with us," Kitty said, peering around the open courtyard. Shooting him a quick glance, she added. "And, well, there's other reasons, too . . ."   
  
"Yeah?" He eyed her quizzically. "What's that supposed to mean?"   
  
"Well-" she began, but topped short, catching sight of a tall, dark-haired boy lounging against a tree. "Look. There," she said, gripping his arm suddenly, and Evan smiled in spite of himself at the sunshine in her voice. Lance looked up then, catching sight of the pair. A wide grin lit the swarthy face, and he advanced toward them, his long legs rapidly covering the distance between them.  
  
"Hi." She looked up at him, a smile trembling over her lips.  
  
"Hi." His smile was no less dazzling. "Daniels." He added almost as an afterthought, glancing quickly to his left.   
  
"Uh, hey." Evan nodded quickly, instinctively checking their surroundings. He saw no familiar faces, and he relaxed a little - just a little.  
  
"Hi," she said again, tilting her head in such a way that her bangs fell cutely over one eye.   
  
"Hiiiii," Lance's voice was goofy and giggly. "You look really, really . . . wow. "  
  
"You're so silly," she said giggling. "But you look . . . wow, too."  
  
Evan shifted uneasily as the two continued to fixate on each other, effectively ignoring him. He suppressed a sigh, sorrier than ever that he'd left his board at the mansion. "Uh . . . I guess I'll just hang for awhile," he said a little louder than he intended. "And I'll swing back and pick you up. You know . . . curfew, and all. Okay, Kitty?"  
  
"Huh? Oh! Right!" Kitty said, still staring lovingly at her boyfriend. "We'll be back, like, in an hour. Right, Lance?"  
  
"Yeah. Don't want to get you in any trouble." Regret tinged the older boy's words. "So we'd better get goin'. We could take the little shortcut behind the library."  
  
As they walked toward the expansive structure, Evan's one thought was to ask where they were headed. Kitty was his teammate, and she was technically going into the "enemy" camp. And though Lance was not so much of a threat, odd things had a way of happening whenever anyone in the Brotherhood was involved. He pondered a moment, as the winding lane leading away from the library came into view. ~Nah. Let 'em have their privacy. They can't go far within an hour.~  
  
He was jolted out of his musing by a sharp intake of breath. Evan looked in surprise to see staring at the library's entryway in shock.  
  
"Fuck!" Lance dashed behind a stone bench, ducking his head. "It's Pietro!"  
  
Kitty and Evan looked over, both sighting a slim, pale figure milling around the crowd at the top of the stairs leading into the library. The person was moving so slowly that Evan at first had doubts that it ~was~ him, but then he caught sight of wings of ivory hair.   
  
"Oh no!" Kitty moved closer to Lance. "Like, what is he doing ~here~? You didn't tell anyone where you were going, did you?"  
  
"No way," Lance said, his voice slightly muffled. "I didn't say anything to ~anybody~. I just kinda . . . took off." There was a pause, and the brown head drooped a little. "Guess I'm pretty good at that." He was quiet a moment more. Then, "Is he still there?"  
  
"Yeah. He's looking around," Evan said, studying his rival. ~He looks pissed,~ he thought, noting Pietro's fierce expression and rigid posture. "Maybe he's just here meeting a study group or something?"  
  
"Pietro? You're kidding, right?" Lance cautiously poked his head around the corner. "I heard him saying something to Todd--"  
  
"Quiet," Evan hissed, shoving the older boy back into his hiding place. Pietro was making another sweep of the upper level. "I think he might be going in . . ." Evan froze for a moment as he saw Pietro swing back and face the courtyard - in their direction. "Or not . . ."  
  
". . . I ~can't~ phase us out, Lance . . . too many people around . . . " Kitty bent toward him, speaking in an agitated whisper.  
  
"Maybe I can create a little distraction, and then you phase us? --"  
  
"No! Then he'll ~know~ you're here." Kitty retorted. "Evan! How close is he? Are any of the others with him?"  
  
He looked up. Pietro was at the top of the stairs, shading his eyes and looking around. Evan nudged Lance with his foot, and the older boy scurried farther behind the obscuring post. Any other time, Evan would have considered Lance's actions rather funny -- the big, bad rock tumbler hiding in fear from one of his own teammates? Especially someone like Pietro, who didn't exactly look like a physical threat. But if things were as tenuous at the Brotherhood as Kitty said, then it was possible that the speed demon would go off if he saw Lance with an X-Man. Evan knew about loyalties. He knew that when push came to shove, he'd lay it all on the line for any of his teammates, and they'd do the same for him. If Pietro chose to mix it up with the X-Men, Evan couldn't be sure that Lance wouldn't give in and side with his fellow Brotherhood member . . . he ~had~ gone back to them, after all.  
  
~Don't want to fight. This is screwed up enough as it is.~ Evan's eyes narrowed.  
  
"Evan?"   
  
He jumped a little, instinctively glancing over his shoulder. Kitty was looking at him strangely. "Is he still there?"  
  
"He's coming this way," Evan said quietly, moving away from the pair. Dark eyes tracked the slender youth as he came closer. "Just chill for a minute. I'll try to keep him busy for a while you guys get lost."   
  
"But --" Kitty began, when Lance placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head quickly.   
  
"Cool, Daniels. Thanks. We owe you big."  
  
"Right." Evan had barely heard him. He was already on his way up the steps.  
  
~*~  
  
~I just turned my back a second. Where the hell did Lance go?~ Pietro cast a savage glare around the courtyard as he clipped down the stairs. ~Damn the old biddies in the Rotunda. Had him in my sights until they came over with their stupid pamphlets. They wanna help starvin' kids, they should come to ~our~ house.~   
  
~Saw him come this way . . . then . . .~ His eyes raked the area as he descended. ~Dammit. He can't be far. I'll find him. I'll --~  
  
"Maximoff. What's up?"  
  
"Accck!" Pietro sprang back in surprise, tripping over his feet in the process. Landing on his butt with a hard thud, he gawked at the figure looming above him.  
  
"Daniels?" He blinked uncertainly at the darker boy. "Where did you come from?"   
  
~Evan? Evan here? Now?~ Pietro's brain was in blender mode. ~No! I can't see him! Don't know what I'm gonna do yet! I'm not ready to see him . . . so . . . he can't be here! Yeah . . . that's it. I'm not ready, so it can't be him. I'm just seeing things. I'm gonna shut my eyes . . . and when I open 'em, there will be ~no~ Evan.~ He squeezed his eyes shut. ~Okay . . . I'll wait a little while, then . . .~  
  
"Maximoff, what is your problem? You gonna lie across the steps all night?"  
  
~Didn't work. He's actually here. Fuck.~   
  
Pietro opened his eyes one at a time, and glared up at Evan. "If you must know, I was resting my eyes." He got to his feet, brushing dust off his clothing. "Just what are you doing here anyway?   
  
"Just studying," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "Doing stuff for school. You?"  
  
"Er . . . research." Pietro's eyes darted from side to side. ~Dammit! I couldn't have lost him . . . I ~couldn't~ have! Lance was moving so slow that Fred could've kept up. Lance did ~not~ shake me. He ~didn't!~ ~  
  
"Oh yeah?" Evan glanced over his shoulder, annoyed to see the top of Lance's head and Kitty's left shoe behind the bench. ~What are they ~doing?~ Can't they just ~go~ already?~ "Research . . . uh . . . about what?"  
  
"Um . . . natural disasters," Pietro hedged, his eyes honing in on a spot near a group of benches. Evan followed his gaze, and nearly stopped breathing when he saw Kitty's head phasing through the bench. She was looking right at them.   
  
~Fuck! What is she doing!~ Evan made what he thought was a discreet signal with his hand. ~Go! Go before he sees . . .~  
  
"Hey!" Pietro attempted to move around Evan to get a closer look. "Hey . . . over near that bench. That looks like . . ."  
  
"So, uh, natural disasters? That's uh, interesting." Evan countered Pietro's moves, attempting to obscure the other teen's view of the courtyard. "That's for Natural Sciences, right? You know, I still haven't started that project -"  
  
"Wait a minute." Pietro was peering over Evan's shoulder. "Isn't that . . ."  
  
"--I mean, there's only a week left." Evan knew he was babbling, but Pietro was looking ~way~ too interested in the benches. "Um, what'd you use as your primary source? I still don't get--"  
  
"Wait a minute!" Pietro began to move around Evan. "That looks like your little Kitty over - ahhh!" he shrieked in alarm as Evan, sensing danger and desperate to keep his rival on the stairs, lurched forward and fell into him, onto him.   
  
Pietro tumbled to the ground once more, though this time, the brown-skinned mutant was pressed heavily atop him. Pietro could feel the steady beat of Evan's heart through his sweatshirt, could smell the heady, tantalizing scent of sweat, deodorant, locker room and . . . mashed potatoes?   
  
"Ah, man. Sorry!" Evan winced. His elbow had taken an untimely hit during his timely fall. "My shoelaces keep untying. My fault." He looked down. Pietro was pinned beneath him, all but motionless. The white-haired boy was breathing hard and he seemed to have gone several shades paler. "You all right?"  
  
Pietro stared mutely into the dark face, noting just how the warmth from Evan's body. --  
  
~On me. He's on ~me.~ On top of ~me.~ Me.~  
  
-- Seemed to spread throughout his body, warming him in turn to almost feverish proportions. He could feel his face grow hot enough to melt, and for a moment, he felt like the human embodiment of fire. Like he was hot enough to spontaneously combust.  
  
Blue eyes bored into brown ones for long, lingering moments, unwavering.   
  
~Close. So close. His lips are so close.~ Pietro's tongue darted out instinctively, wetting his own cracked lips. He saw Evan glance down at his mouth, seemingly surprised by the sudden flash of pink. ~I could kiss him right now. Wouldn't take much. All I have to do is bring my head up a little . . . just a little . . . and then his lips would be on me. Evan's lips on me. Me. . .~  
  
"Uhhhh . . . you all right, Maximoff?" Evan got to his feet before Pietro's brain had a chance to register what was happening. "You didn't hit your head or anything, did you?" He extended a hand to the swift teen at the same time casting a quick glance over his shoulder. Kitty and Lance were nowhere to be seen. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evan turned his attention back to Pietro who was still sprawled on the stairs looking dazed.  
  
"Pietro?" He bent forward a little, worry in his voice. "Pietro? You all right?"  
  
~Close. We were close. I was so . . . close . . . .~ Pietro forced the muzzy thoughts out of his head. Shivering, he realized that the chill air of the fast-approaching night had seeped through his thin shirt. The heat had fled, a dark, growing anger coming in to take its place.  
  
"I'm . . . all right," he muttered, ignoring the hand Evan offered him. He pulled himself up by degrees, maintaining a death grip on the banister. "Just fine." His eyes were fixed on a point somewhere near the ground. "Just fucking fine. Not like ~you~ care."  
  
"Whoa. Hey. What do you mean, man?" Evan said, feeling an inexplicable, searing blush start just below his cheekbones. "What'd I-"  
  
Pietro turned toward him, a tense, angry expression on his angular face. "Just forget it, ~Evan.~ I don't want to keep you away from your ~school~ stuff. Besides, I need to go home and change my shirt, since your klutziness did ~this~ to the only decent one I have." He thrust an arm into Evan's face, displaying a long, obvious rip in the sleeve. "Unfortunately, none of ~us~ have Prince Baldy throwing around money to get new clothes, so thanks. I really appreciate you ruining the one of the few pieces of intact clothing I have. Good thing the bum look came back in."   
  
Evan was taken aback by the other boy's sudden ferocity. "Look, man. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mess up your shirt." He felt around in his pockets, fingering a neat stack of folded bills within.  
  
"Look, I've got some cash," he said, drawing out the bills. "There's this cool cleaners near the school. I bet they could stitch that up. Or . . . if you want, you could have one of mine. I have one kinda like that." He eyed Pietro's maroon sweater. "Um . . . 'cept it's green . . ."  
  
"Forget it, Daniels. I don't need your stupid money . . . or your stupid shirt," Pietro snarled. "I'll just be moving along. Getting out of your face, like you want." He brushed by the boy, moving as quickly as he could without using his powers.   
  
~Gotta get outta here. Lance. I lost Lance. Evan. I lost Evan. A shirt? He wants to give me a shirt?~ Pietro made his way shakily down the rest of the stairs, clutching the banister tight. ~I don't want a shirt, you idiot. I want you. You!~  
  
"Maximoff, wait up!" Evan huffed beside the speedster. "What are you talking about? I never told you to leave. I just want -"  
  
"Well, well. What a short memory we have." Pietro smirked at the dumbfounded look on Evan's face. "I seem to remember a conversation we had in a certain hallway of a certain school about a certain letter, and I seem to remember the words 'get,' 'out,' 'of,' 'my,' 'face,' and 'Pietro' being used . . . all in the same sentence, no less."  
  
"Oh . . . that." Evan felt the blush return. The stupid letter . . . again. Couldn't the whole issue just go away? "Look . . . you've got it wrong. I just meant -"  
  
Pietro skidded to a stop. "I've got it wrong? ~I've~ got it ~wrong~?" He laughed shortly, harshly. Indignation and anger and frustration converged in him, the wave of emotions threatening to bubble over and consume him. "Silly me . . . of ~course~ I'm wrong. It's gotta be me. I'm not an X-Man, after all, and ~you~ are, and everyone knows that the X-Men know ~everything.~"  
  
"That's not what I -"  
  
"Except you don't know anything." Pietro said, eyes flashing. "Not ~anything.~ Like, about that letter for instance." He watched in cool satisfaction as Evan's eyes widened. "I know what you think about it. How you think it's just one big laugh. And believe me -- you're the one who has it ~wrong.~"  
  
Evan took a few steps back, suddenly shaken by the intensity of Pietro's look. "What . . . what do you mean? What do you know about it?"  
  
"He knows ~all~ about it, yo."  
  
Evan and Pietro turned in unison. Todd was at the base of the stairs, looking up at them. The boy's small form was slightly illuminated by the lamplights flickering around the quad. It made him look otherworldly, even more so than he did when he was wearing his battle armor.  
  
"Todd . . . uh . . . what's up?" Pietro, getting over the initial shock of seeing his teammate there, asked in a low, and, he hoped, steady voice. "Um, how'd you know . . ."  
  
"Same as you," Todd said with a shrug. "His cologne was so strong, all I had to do was follow the scent, yo."  
  
Any other time, Pietro would have chuckled at that or at least given a smile. But he was having a bit of trouble breathing. Todd was there. Todd had followed him, just as he had followed Lance. Todd was there . . . and he had a very, very dangerous look in his eyes.  
  
"Um . . . how long have you been here?" Pietro cringed at the tremor in his voice. ~Why is he looking me like that?~  
  
"Long enough," Todd said shortly, bounding up toward them. His eyes flicked over to Evan. "I heard you talking to Fuzzy this afternoon. And you ~are~ wrong. That letter . . .it's real, yo. And Pietro-"  
  
"Er, Todd," Pietro zipped over in alarm, seizing the younger teen's arm. "What are you-"  
  
"You had your chance, yo," Todd said in a low voice, slipping smoothly out of Pietro's grip. "Now it's time to stop playing." He nodded toward Evan, who was looking from Pietro to Todd in confusion. "And I know you; you ain't gonna tell him. So I guess I'm gonna have to."  
  
  
~*~ 


	4. Four

~Four~  
  
  
~If there is a God . . . and there's gotta be, because I'm pretty sure I'm directly descended from Him, I will die right now. Waitaminute. Hold it. Let me rephrase that. Dying's a little . . . extreme. Um . . . lessee, if there's a God, I will disappear right now. Or be swallowed up by the Earth. Or faint at the very least . . .~  
  
Pietro made this silent prayer with his eyes tightly shut, feeling a cold wind lash his cheeks with long, stinging strokes. ~C'mon, God . . . you can do this . . .~  
  
"Stop fronting, yo. You look like a dork."  
  
~Hmph . . . some God you are . . . you could've at least gotten rid of ~him.~  
  
Pietro slowly opened his eyes and the grimly serious face of Todd coming into view by degrees. Yes, he was still there, as was Evan, and both seemed to be waiting for Pietro to say something. Todd was sitting down, his gangling legs splayed casually across the steps.   
  
"Said I wasn't gonna give up on you. So here I am. Just in time, too, looks like." Todd jerked his head in Evan's direction.  
  
"Todd . . . I'm going to give you three seconds to get out of here," Pietro hissed fiercely. "If you leave quietly, ~maybe~ I won't tell Tabby that you're the one who washed her white dress with Lance's gym socks."  
  
"Three seconds?" Todd gave him a puzzled look. "You're kidding, right? I ain't you, yo. "  
  
"Ah . . . true." Pietro grinned slightly, pushing a wisp of hair behind his ear. "But still -"  
  
"- 'Cause if I were, ~I~ wouldn't be in this mess," Todd said, springing up. "I woulda already told Daniels-"  
  
"What? Told me what?" Evan, who'd maintained a polite distance from the two while they talked, now drew closer. "What's going on? What do you need to tell me?"  
  
"Uh . . tell? He didn't say ~tell.~" The speedster's mind whirled as he wedged himself between Todd and Evan. "He said . . . uh . . . ~sell.~ He wants to ~sell~ you some . . .uh . . . candy. You know that whole sale going on at school?"  
  
"Yeah . . ." Evan said slowly. "But I thought it ended last week."  
  
"Oh, um, did it? Well, then . . . I guess you don't want to buy any," Pietro said with a chuckle that was swallowed up by the wind. "Oh well. Too bad. Well, gottagobye!" He grabbed hold of his teammate's arm and set about dragging him down the steps.  
  
"No way," Todd said, hooking one arm around the railing. "I didn't come all this way for my health, yo. I'm missin' the Undertaker's steel cage match against Val Venis for this, and nobody's going anywhere before I speak my mind. Daniels!" Todd snapped suddenly at the black teen. "I got some things to say to ~you,~ 'cause your attitude is working my nerves, yo."  
  
Evan's eyebrows shot up. "Me? What? What'd ~I~ do?"  
  
"What did you do? What did you ~do~?" Todd eyes became pinpricks in his broad, olive-skinned face. "Huh. He wants to know what ~he~ did. Tell him what he did, Quickie."  
  
Two sets of eyes turned his way. Pietro, feeling his knees about to give way, leaned on the banister for support.  
  
"Uh . . ." Pietro's mouth worked uselessly for some seconds. "I-I-I-Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingabout.Toddwhatareyoutalkingabout?" ~I should run. Yeah! Run! Get out of here! I'm Quicksilver, dammit. It's what I do.~ Pietro stared down in his feet in dazed confusion. ~Um . . . why aren't I running? Feet? Hello?~ "Um . . ."  
  
Todd rolled his eyes, mouthing "wimp" at Pietro before turning back to the X-Man. "Fine. ~I'll~ tell you. I was in the parking lot when you and Fuzzbrain had your little conversation today."   
  
"What? When?" Evan tilted his head, trying to remember any prolonged conversation he'd had with Kurt that day. The only thing that stuck out in his mind was an argument he'd had with the German boy at breakfast about which was better out of Canadian or regular bacon.  
  
"After the ~game.~ You told Blue Boy you found a note in your locker."  
  
"Yeah . . . so?" Evan eyed him warily. "What were you doing eavesdropping anyway, ~Toad~?"  
  
The shorter boy bristled, hopping up until he was face to face with the blond.  
  
"First off, watch your fucking mouth. "Toad" ain't here, yo. I ain't in battle gear. But I can be ~real~ fast, if that's how you wanna play it." Green eyes shone dangerously.  
  
"Uh, Todd . . ." Pietro cut in nervously, noting his friend's rigid posture. "Let's just go, all right? I've got this huge rip in my shirt, and it's getting cold, and my arm hurts, 'cause I hit it on the ground -- ~ . . .When Evan fell on top of me. Oops. Not gonna think about that. Not gonna!~  
  
"-- And we've got homework . . . and the old Star Search reruns are coming on . . ." ~And he's not listening to a word I'm saying. And I still can't get my feet to move.~ His thin shoulders sloped forward. ~And this is gonna get veryveryveryvery bad.~  
  
"Don't piss me off, 'cause I ain't in the mood," Todd said, continuing to ignore Pietro. "You're fucking around with somebody's emotions. And I'm ~not~ happy about it, yo."  
  
A shiver went through Evan as Todd continued to stare him down. ~Wind's  
picking up,~ he thought, burying his hands deeper in his jeans pocket. He wanted to turn away from the young mutant's intense, almost crazed, look, but he couldn't. He couldn't stop looking at him. Watching Todd watch him, Evan was conscious that the shorter boy not only looked angry, but he looked focused, too. ~I've seen that look before,~ Evan realized with a start. ~He had that same expression on Asteroid M . . . ~  
  
~On Asteroid M. He had that ~same~ look. And we were fighting for our lives.~  
  
Evan trembled again, shaking his head in an attempt to dispel the memory of Magneto's "sanctuary." "Playing with emotions? I don't understand. Whose emotions?'  
  
"The person who sent you the letter. Who else?" Todd replied. "How would you feel if you poured your heart out to somebody and they just stepped on it like it's trash? Huh? How the hell would you feel knowing that the person you want to love you is going around telling people that your feelings are a joke? How the ~hell~ would you feel, Daniels?"  
  
"I . . . I dunno." Evan said softly, cowed by the anger in Todd's tone. "I . . .guess . . . bad."  
  
"Bad? Bad?! More than just ~bad.~ You'd feel like you're nothing. Like less than nothing. Like shit!" Todd roared. Several people exiting the library aimed curious stares at the trio. "Just like shit. And that's just how the person who wrote you that letter feels. Like shit."  
  
Evan was rendered speechless for a time, contemplating Todd's words. "But .  
. . but . . . I don't get it," the blond said finally. "Even if it is legit, which I don't buy, what do ~you~ care about it?"  
  
Todd stood quiet for a second or two. "What a friend of yours told you about some guy they liked . . . some guy they wanted to get close to? So they try to get his attention, right? Send him a nice little note - nothing fancy, just a little something." Todd flung his hair out of his eyes. "What if that friend of yours - say it was Kitty or Jean or Roguey, or even Fuzzface or Shades - was trying to get somebody interested in them, and having to listen while that person went around saying that it was some gag? You'd be mad, right? It'd make you mad, wouldn't it, if you had a friend getting their heart broken because of some dumb shit?"  
  
"I . . . well, I guess . . ." Evan glanced over at Pietro, who was fidgeting beside him. "I mean, sure I'd be . . ."  
  
"Me, too. And that's why I'm fucking ready to pop, yo. 'Cause the person who likes you? It's a friend of mine . . . and I don't like it when my friends get played. ~That's~ what I have to do with it."  
  
A jolt went through Pietro from top to toe. ~No . . . no . . . He wouldn't. He couldn't!~ "Uh, Todd -"  
  
"A friend of yours?" Evan said with a befuddled stare, leaning closer to Todd. "Who?"  
  
Todd turned a little away from Evan then, his gaze curving over the area. Trees trembled in the stiff breeze, and stragglers fanned out across the quad like foot soldiers, fighting their way through the chilly gusts of air. Todd stood looking out into the expanse of trees and grass for a time, before he turned back to Evan, who was eyeing him with equal parts impatience and anticipation.  
  
"Tolensky? You gonna tell me or what? Who is it?"  
  
Todd nodded a little, and Pietro, conscious that he had been holding his breath for some moments, felt his stomach drop. ~No . . . he won't do it . . . he can'thecan'thecan't--~  
  
Pietro's breath left him in a whoosh when Todd turned to look at him, the younger mutant's eyes sparkling in his otherwise impassive face. Slowly, Todd raised a hand, almost as if he were the Pope conferring a blessing, and extended two fingers at his housemate. At that moment, the wind died down.  
  
"Pietro -"  
  
Todd's voice was quiet, but it seemed to carom around the quiet square. The silver-haired boy might have wondered at that, but at the sound of his name, a sudden screeching noise assaulted his ears, and he stumbled backward. The world tilted sharply then, and Pietro became aware that air had taken the place of the concrete stairs under his feet. A strange wind whistled in his ears, and he would have wondered at that, too, but a tugging at his left foot and a sudden, sharp pain in his head prevented all thought. He thought he heard his name again - Todd? Evan? Both? - and a rush of footsteps, but he couldn't be sure. A looming darkness descended all at once, clouding his brain, and soon he heard nothing at all.  
  
~*~  
  
Color, bright bits of color, swirled kaleidoscope-like inside Pietro's head. He lay mesmerized by the show going on behind his closed eyelids, a bit frustrated to find that every time he concentrated his attention on one of the dancing colors, it retreated farther back into his brain. He was jostled out of his repose when a hand brushed his brow gently, leaving a trail of pinprick-like sensations in its wake, like miniature firecrackers on his skin. A soft, slightly damp hand stroked his forehead, and he squirmed fitfully, attempting to get away from the clammy hand.   
  
"Tabby? That you? Cut it out," Pietro groaned, tossing around. ~How did my bed get so hard?~ "I'm trying to sleep here."   
  
"Tabby? Awww man . . . I think he's delirious, yo." A strangely high-pitched, tremulous, and un-Tabby-like voice sounded near his ear. "Pietro? Pietro! Can you hear me?"  
  
~Todd?~ Pietro struggled to open his eyes. The pale face of his teammate swam in and out of his line of vision. ~How'd he get so tall?~ The speedster gaped up at Todd for a few moments before he realized that he was not in his room at all, and Tabitha was nowhere to be seen. He was, in fact, lying on a bench under a very large linden tree in the library's quad. Todd was standing - no, crouching, really - at his side, the younger teen's face drawn in a mask of worry.  
  
"What . . . where . . ." Pietro began uncertainly. His mouth felt as if it were full of cotton. "What . . . what happened?"  
  
"Thank God, yo. You're alive!" Todd threw his arms around his teammate's neck. "Scared me to death. You all right?"  
  
"Huh?" Pietro fidgeted in Todd's embrace. "What? I don't remember . . ."  
  
"No! He's got amnesia!" Todd's face tightened, and for a moment, Pietro thought the boy was going to burst into tears. "Quickie, you remember me, right? Who am I? Where are we? How many fingers am I holding up?" Todd raised a webbed hand, waving two fingers in Pietro's face.  
  
"Todd, knock it off," Pietro said, pushing his hand away. "Just tell me what happened. We were talking, and then --"  
  
"--You dropped, man. Like a ton of bricks."   
  
Pietro sat up quickly and regretted it immediately as his head began to pound. His vision went wonky for a moment, but not before he caught sight of blond hair and brown eyes. Evan was standing behind Todd, watching his longtime rival with concerned eyes.   
  
"Oooh." Pietro pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Feels like a ton of bricks dropped on my ~head.~ Will someone please tell me why I feel like Fred just sat on my skull?"  
  
"You . . . you . . . fell, yo." Todd untangled himself from Pietro's neck. "Down the steps . . . you fell, and you kinda hit your head."  
  
"Fell? Steps?" Pietro's eyes darted around and came to rest on the looming library and the pyramid of stairs leading up to it. "Down ~those~ steps? I fell down ~those~ steps?"  
  
Todd nodded. "You just . . . kinda blacked out or something . . . and bam! I almost had you." He looked down, swiping furtively at his eyes, before turning a haunted, penitent face back on Pietro. "But not in time to keep you from hitting your head. I'm sorry, Quickie. I tried. I -"  
  
"It's fine, Todd. I'm all right. I think I just need to stay far, far away from those steps from now on." Pietro had no idea what Todd was talking about, but the dark, desperate expression of the mop-haired boy made Pietro want to just forget about the entire incident - whatever it had been - as quickly as possible. "How long have I been here?"  
  
"About five, ten minutes," Evan said. "You scared us, man. We weren't sure if you had a concussion or not. Maybe you should go to a doctor or something."  
  
"No need. I'm okay." Pietro said, running a hand through his hair. He felt no lumps or sore spots on his head - a good sign. He tentatively touched his hairline and forehead - still no bumps or cuts that he could discern.  
  
"Don't worry; your face is fine." Evan smirked. There was no unkindness in the blond's expression, however. Rather, it seemed as if he were indulging the vanity of his rival. Pietro picked up on this and smiled uncertainly, swinging his feet off the bench.  
  
". . . Your arm is kinda messed up, though." Evan continued, pointing to Pietro's left arm. The speed demon look at it in surprise - the sleeve of his sweater was rolled up nearly to the shoulder, and a piece of gray cloth was wrapped tightly around his upper forearm, discolored with dried blood. Beneath the makeshift bandage, a wound of unknown size throbbed fitfully, but it was not overly painful. He lifted his arm tentatively, and was soon satisfied that the cut was the worst that had been done to it. Pietro regarded his arm with interest, fingering the ragged cloth of the bandage and pulling at a few loose threads.   
  
"Sorry about the band-aid. It was the best we could do. And I had to use one of my spikes to cut it - that's why it looks so weird." Evan sat next to Pietro. "And so I guess we're even . . . as far as the shirt thing goes."  
  
Seeing Pietro's confused look, Evan pointed to the right sleeve of his gray sweater, from which a long strip of material had been torn out, and he indicated Pietro's own shirt, still torn from their earlier encounter. A little beyond the bench, Pietro saw a discarded bone fragment with a piece of fabric still sticking to it.  
  
"Thanks. I think." Pietro said, glancing at Todd again. The younger boy's face still had a punched-in, scared look to it, but he seemed to have calmed down some. "It's absorbent, at least."  
  
"Yeah." Evan looked Pietro full in the face. "Um . . . you sure you're all right?"   
  
"I'll live," Pietro said with a grimace. "A dip into Lance's stash of painkillers, a little rest and I'll be . . . whatever."  
  
"All right." Evan continued to gaze at the snow-haired boy. Pietro, feeling a little shy under the intense brown eyes, wriggled in embarrassment.   
  
"What? What is it?"  
  
"Nothing. Just . . ." Evan hesitated, not breaking his stare. "Uh . . . sorry to have to tell you, but it looks like I spoke too soon: You might be getting a bruise right there." He pointed to Pietro's forehead.  
  
"What? Where?" Pietro started in alarm. Any sort of discoloration looked hideous against his ivory skin. "Where?!"  
  
"Here." Evan leaned forward and ran a thumb along a stretch of skin right above Pietro's left eyebrow. Startled, Pietro felt the prickly, fireworks-like sensations return, but this time, he didn't try to squirm away. He closed his eyes, enjoying the touch of the dark-skinned boy, relishing the series of tremors it sent down his spine, clear through to the soles of his feet and upward to his scalp. Pietro savored the short-lived contact, realizing just how fleeting a second could be.  
  
". . . A small one," the blond was saying.  
  
"Hmmm?" Pietro reluctantly opened his eyes, his skin still tingling where Evan had touched him. "What?"  
  
"It'll be a small mark," Evan repeated. "No one'll even notice it, probably. Maybe if you hide it with your hair, like this -" He ruffled a few of the creamy strands forward, and Pietro nearly melted through the bench when the strong fingers gently raked his scalp. "Yeah. Now I can hardly see it."  
  
"Uh . . . okay." Pietro felt his body become light, buoyant, almost weightless. He swore he could feel his feet coming off the ground. Soon, he'd be airborne, he thought giddily, floating . . .flying . . . carried aloft by the memory of Evan's fingers in his hair - even though he ~hated~ to have his hair in his face.   
  
"Pietro? I think we should go home, yo."  
  
Todd's voice brought the speedster back to Earth with a thud. Pietro looked over at his friend, who, observing the exchange between the other two boys, was shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "You need rest."  
  
"In a minute, Todd!"   
  
The younger boy's wide eyes let Pietro know that his tone had been harsher than he intended. "I mean . . . I just need to sit here for a sec and gather my thoughts. Then we can go. All right?" he asked in a softer voice.  
  
"It's just that Tabby and Fred saw me leave, and they asked a lot of questions. I think that if we're not back soon, they might get worried and come looking for us. That might not be too good." Todd glanced at Evan.  
  
"Mmmm. I get your point," Pietro said gravely, adjusting the bandage, which was slipping a little. "All right, tell you what - you go on ahead. If Tab and Fred ask, you don't know where I am, and you haven't seen you-know-who." Pietro saw Evan perk up at the last part of his statement, but decided to ignore it for the moment.   
  
Todd blinked. "That part's true. I ~haven't~ seen, uh, you-know-who. Did you?"  
  
Pietro shook his head curtly. "Nope. Lost him. But there'll be other chances. But anyway, if they ask you if you've seen him, you won't be lying when you say no."  
  
"Yeah, but. . ." Todd paused, swallowing hard. "I don't wanna just leave you here alone. I mean, what if-"  
  
"-I'll be here a little while," Evan cut in. "I mean, at least another half-hour or so . . ."  
  
Todd looked at Pietro, who shrugged slightly. "I'm just going to sit here for another few minutes and just wait for my brains to completely settle back in, that's all. I'll probably be home before you, Toddie." Pietro grinned at the boy.  
  
"Well, if you're ~sure,~ yo . . ." Todd still sounded unconvinced.  
  
"I'm positive. Go on. Maybe you can get home in time to catch some of the Undertaker match."  
  
"Hey, yeah!" Todd brightened. "It ~is~ the main event. Maybe it hasn't even started yet!" He stared hard at Pietro. "But it'll be on again on Sunday. I could stay--" He stopped short, grinning in spite of himself at Pietro's exasperated expression. "All right, all right. I get it. I'll see you at home, yo. Later Daniels," he said to the black teen. "And, thanks."  
  
"It's cool," Evan replied. "I appreciate what you said, though, man. I . . . I hope something comes of it."  
  
Todd's eyes flicked over to Pietro, who was tucking in a loose end of his bandage. "Yeah," the brown-haired boy said softly. "So do I, yo. Later."  
  
Pietro looked up then, and he and Evan watched in silence as Todd walked away, gradually melting into the shadows.  
  
"I'm fine, Daniels," Pietro said when Todd had totally disappeared from view. "You don't have to stick around doing your X-Men/Boy Scout routine keeping an eye on me."  
  
"It's cool, really. I've gotta be here anyway." Evan glanced at his watch. A half-hour until Kitty was due to return.   
  
"Mmmm." Pietro was only half-listening. His attention was focused again on the library, now illuminated by the light shining from the lamps on either side of the building. "Daniels, what ~really~ happened up there?"  
  
"Huh? What happened up where?"  
  
"~There.~" Pietro nodded at the mountain of stairs. "The way Todd was acting, it was like he pushed me himself. Why was he acting so freaked out?"  
  
"What do you expect?" Evan asked. "I think I would be, too, if one of my friends took a header off, like, three flights of steps. It happened the way Todd said. We were all up on the steps, and I saw you take a step back. You must've lost your balance or something, because you screamed and then you kind of . . . passed out, it looked like -"  
  
"I ~what~? I screamed?" Pietro was shaken when Evan nodded. He thought back to the events just before his tumble and seemed to recall a weird screeching sound in his ears. . .  
  
A weird sound in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered. ~That was ~me.~ Wonderful.~ "Oh."  
  
"But you know what was strange?" Evan went on with a frown. "Me and Todd turned around just as you were falling, and it was like . . . like . . . bizarre. I mean, you were ~falling~ the way that you run when you're using your powers. Like in double-fast time. By the time we had even turned around, you were nearly on the ground. Then Todd tried to catch you-"  
  
"What? How?" Pietro asked, puzzled. "If I was going so fast-"  
  
"With his tongue," Evan replied. "He got your foot, and was able to sort of deflect you so that you fell more on your side than on your head. When we got to you, we thought you were knocked out, but you were muttering the whole time, so we figured you were just stunned. We carried you over here, bound up your arm and just waited for you to snap out of it. But if you hadn't gotten up when you did, you were going to the hospital, man."  
  
"Ahhh . . ." Pietro cupped his chin thoughtfully, Todd's haunted eyes coming back to mind. ~You saved my life, Toddie, probably . . . why were you looking at me like that?~ "No one saw him do it, did they? I mean, the tongue thing . . ."  
  
"Doubtful." Evan shook his head. "It's dark, and this place is pretty much deserted. And it happened so fast."  
  
"Right. Well." Pietro stood uncertainly, ignoring a renewed throbbing in his head. "Thanks, for, uh . . . yeah." Pietro's eyed the blond out of the corner of his eye. "Um . . . I mean, I guess . . . uh . . . seeya." He prepared to speed away before he became even less coherent. The combination of a pounding pain and Evan's being so close was having an adverse affect on his brain..  
  
"Hey, Maximoff. One thing."  
  
Pietro looked around. Evan was standing up, looking at him with a slight smile.   
  
"Yessss?" Pietro shifted uneasily.  
  
"I just wanted to let you know that I'm . . . sorry. . ." Evan halted, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. "About, you know, what happened."  
  
"Don't worry about it. It was an accident."  
  
"No, I'm not talking about ~that.~" Evan shook his head. "I mean . . . I mean about the letter."  
  
Pietro felt the blood drain out of his already-pale face. "The . . . what?"  
  
"The letter," Evan repeated with a bigger smile. "I'm sorry I said what I said about it . . . I didn't know-"  
  
"W-What?" Pietro was sure he was going to faint again. The image of Todd standing on the steps pointing at him slammed into his head. And Todd had been saying something . . .   
  
~Pietro.~  
  
~Who is it? Who wrote the letter?~  
  
~Pietro. Pietro. Pietro.~   
  
"Pietro?"  
  
The white-haired mutant jumped as if he had been goosed. Evan was looking at him oddly.   
  
"You didn't know?" Pietro said faintly. "Didn't know . . . what?"  
  
"Anything." Evan shrugged, and then stopped, chagrined, almost as if he expected Pietro to make some smart remark. Pietro stood mute, though, staring straight ahead. "But now I do, man," Evan continued. "Todd told me all about it."  
  
"Uh . . ." The old urge to flee came upon him. "He . . . did?"  
  
"Look, don't be shocked. I'm glad he said something." Evan walked over to him and rested a hand on the thin teen's shoulder. An eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly as he stared into Pietro's darkening blue eyes. "The thing I want to know is, why didn't you?" 


	5. Five

AN: This is a bridge chapter just to sort of flesh out more of the plot. Thanks for all your patience in waiting for updates. I promise to try to update more often. I officially dedicate this story to a trio of way-cool Evietro writers: Fire Tears, Casey Greengate and Sevy. Oh, and as always, reviews are greeted with wild applause.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
~Five~   
  
He was the master of movement. The sultan of swiftness. The baron of briskness. As such, Pietro was used to thinking and acting at the speed of light - times five. It wasn't something he was necessarily aware of every second of every day. It was just the way things were with him; he thought fast, he acted fast, he ~was~ fast. Period.  
  
But not now. He was no Quicksilver now - not in body or in mind. His brain cells couldn't work nearly quick enough to formulate a single word to say to the boy standing in front of him. Pietro wriggled nervously under the gaze from Evan's brown, lucid eyes. Those eyes shone bright; the speedster could see them clearly, even though the open courtyard had by this time been shrouded in a silky darkness. The library had closed, and it was eerily quiet in coutryard, save the trees' shivering in the stiff night breeze and an odd clattering sound Pietro could not quite account for.   
  
~And Evan is here. And he said he knows. He knows. Oh my fucking god, he knows . . .~   
  
"Hey . . . you all right?" Evan's head tilted slightly. "Your teeth are chattering."   
  
~So that's what that sound is.~ Pietro thought idly, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist. "Uh . . . cold." ~Cold. ~Cold~?! Wonderful. The first thing I'm able to say in at least two minutes is ~cold~? I am such a fucking master of words.~ "I mean, it's cold. Out here. That's what I meant." ~Great.~ He shut his eyes tight. ~Now I'm babbling. I am definitely on a roll tonight.~   
  
"So. You know." The words rolled out awkwardly, as if Pietro had to force them out of his mouth. "You . . . know."  
  
Evan stared at his nemesis with concern. "Damn, man, you're pale. Maybe you should sit down again."   
  
"No thanks." The boy stood shivering. ~I still can't believe he ~told~ him. I swear, I'm going to kill him. Or myself. Or both. Simultaneously. But . . . but wait.~ Pietro studied Evan, noticing that the darker boy was regarding him with a little half-smile and a generally pleasant expression. ~He knows. He knows that I love him. And he didn't run away. He knows, and he's still standing here. He knows . . . and he's with me now. What does this mean?~  
  
"Listen: Todd was only able to tell me a little bit. We were busy waiting for you to wake up . . . so it wasn't as if we had this long, drawn-out conversation."   
  
"He talked to you about this while I was lying bleeding and injured?" The speedster's voice contained just a touch of indignation. "I'm so glad that me falling headfirst from about a zillion stairs gave you the chance to have a chat."   
  
"Man, it wasn't anything like that." Evan replied with a sigh. "We were carrying you over here, and Todd was really messed up, saying how sorry he was that he came out here, but that he just wanted to help. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. But when we put you on the bench and I was tying up your arm, he just started spilling. He told me about the letter. He told me what you said to him about me. He told me -"   
  
"--Everything. Todd told you everything," Pietro said dully. The ache in his head began afresh and his knees felt wobbly. ~I will not faint again. Iwon'tIwon'tIwon't.~   
  
"Well, not everything," Evan said. "We were kinda busy making sure you weren't dead."  
  
"~Anything~ he said was more than enough. Too much." Pietro studied him closely. "What exactly did he say?"   
  
"Not much, really." Evan shrugged. "Just that he saw this friend of his putting the letter in my locker, and that he asked her about it --"   
  
~Her? HER?!~ The speedster's eyes went large. "He what?" His throat closed around the last word, and he began to cough violently.   
  
Evan glanced over at the pale teen. "You all right?"   
  
"Fine." Pietro cleared his throat, battling to regain control of his emotions. "Go on."   
  
"That was pretty much it," Evan said. "You came to right about then, and he shut up quick." There was silence for a moment. "Um, but before that, he said he couldn't tell me who the person is, that he was, y'know, sworn to secrecy. But he said that ~you~ know. And you could tell me."  
  
"Did he now?" he muttered, kicking at a clump of dirt near his left foot. "And why would I want to do that, Daniels?"   
  
"Because . . . ah . . ." The other boy fumbled for words. "Um . . . because I'm curious." Evan looked into the impassive face of his adversary. "And, uh, because . . . Todd said you would."   
  
Pietro smiled a little. "You really must be desperate Spyke-boy. You're listening to what ~Todd~ says?" He chuckled at the annoyed expression on Evan's face. He knew that antagonizing the blond was directly opposite to his goal of winning the boy's love -- or at least getting him into bed -- but he couldn't help it. There were times it seemed as if Evan was put on the Earth for Pietro to perturb.   
  
"So you're saying Todd was yanking me?" Evan's jaw twitched.   
  
~Oh god, not ~this~ again.~ "No." Pietro rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying why would Todd do you any favors by getting you a date? You're an X-Gee-- er, Man. What would he get out of it?" He was quiet a moment. "Besides, I got the impression that you couldn't give a damn about this anonymous letter writer." Pietro's gaze went steely remembering their hallway tete-a-tete.  
  
"Okay. I admit it; I acted like a jerk," Evan said. "But, I dunno . . . the way Todd was going on, sounds like he really cares about this person. I mean, I've never seen him so serious about ~anything,~ man. They must be really close for him to not have dogged me out to her." Evan looked a little worried. "He hasn't, has he? Like, has he told her I was a total asshole or anything?"  
  
"Sure he has," Pietro muttered, chafing at Evan's continual use of "she" and "her." "But this person . . . ah . . . has sort of a blind spot when it comes to you. There's not anything much Todd -- or anybody -- can say that would change this person's mind."   
  
"So there really is someone?" Evan fought hard to keep his expression neutral, but relief, tempered with a touch of hope, was evident in his voice.   
  
"Yes. It's real, okay?" Pietro said in mock exasperation. "It'srealit'srealit'sreal! Happy?"   
  
Evan didn't answer, but gave a smile -- genuine, but fleeting -- that was all the answer Pietro needed. "And you know who it is?"   
  
He hesitated. Then, "Yes."   
  
"And it really is a friend of Tolensky's?"   
  
Pietro sighed. "Unfortunately."   
  
Evan grinned slightly. "I won't hold it against her. Much." A pause. "So. Uh, who is she?"   
  
She. The hairs on the back of Pietro's neck rose. She. One word -- a simple little pronoun, innocuous, really but Evan's saying it in that light, lilting Spyke-happy voice caused the fleet-footed mutant's heart to feel as if it were being put through a meat grinder.   
  
She. Of course Evan would think his admirer was a she. Why wouldn't he? That was the order of the world: boys liked girls, girls liked boys, and boys and girls got together to kiss and screw and make other boys and girls. It was the way of the world. It was normal.   
  
~But ~we're~ not.~ Pietro thought as the wind whipped color into his cheeks. ~And neither's this world, or any other, so why the hell should anything else be?~   
  
"Well?" Evan's impatient tone interrupted the white-haired boy's internal monologue. "Spill it, man. Who is it?"   
  
Pietro recovered himself, and one side of his mouth quirked into a patented Quicksilver grin. "You expect me to just ~tell~ you? Dream on, Spykey. Where's the fun in that?"   
  
"That's not right," the darker mutant protested. "I'd tell ~you~ if you were in my place."   
  
Pietro shrugged. "I believe you. But Todd was wrong -- I can't tell you either. See, I'm sworn to secrecy, too." Pietro spread his hands in a helpless gesture at Evan's disbelieving glare. "I'm serious! Sorry, Daniels. You had your chance in the hall that day when this all first happened. But you blew it."   
  
"So this is a friend of yours, too?"  
  
"Uh, in a manner of speaking," Pietro said haltingly. "Yes. I guess you could say that. But I can't say who it is. I promised." That much was true - he'd promised Todd that he'd see him in hell, or at least in the basement of the Brotherhood House, which was the same thing, really -- before he'd tell Evan the truth. "Looks like you won't be breaking any dates with your left hand anytime soon."   
  
"You wish." Evan smirked. "C'mon, man . . . why can't you just tell me? I mean, what's the big deal anyway?"   
  
Pietro forced himself to count to ten - slowly, or what passed for it for him, before opening his mouth. "I like seeing you squirm. You want to know so badly, you figure it out."   
  
"This isn't fair, man. Can't you even give me a hint?"   
  
"I could . . . but I won't." Pietro grinned, taking a perverse pleasure in his rival's discomfiture. Sometimes it was too easy to get under Evan's skin. It was getting into the boy's heart that was the hard part. "Besides . . . even if I gave you five hints . . . Ha! I could give you ~fifty~ and you'd be even more lost than you are now."   
  
"Oh yeah?"   
  
"No question." Pietro's voice was smug.   
  
"Yeah?" Evan got closer, his eyes glittering dangerously.   
  
Pietro smiled thinly. "Yup."   
  
Evan fell quiet, and his gaze wandered to the ground. In the next moment, he looked up, smiling slyly. "Wanna bet?"   
  
~Don't stare, don't stare at the lips, don't stare, don't . . .~ "Bet?" Pietro asked, puzzled.   
  
"Sure. I bet you that if you gave me a couple of hints, I could guess who it is," Evan said. "They'd have to be good hints -- nothing bogus. But I bet I could. That way, I find out who it is, and you don't break your word."   
  
Pietro laughed a little. "Daniels, please. ~I'll~ bet that I could give you every clue in the world and you wouldn't even be at the starting gate."   
  
"If you're that confident, put your money where your mouth is," Evan retorted. "You scared I'll prove you wrong? Or are you full of it, Maximoff?"  
  
No." Pietro's expression was serious. "I'm not."   
  
"You're not what? Full of it?"  
  
"I'm not scared." Pietro's voice was quiet. "Of anything."   
  
That was a lie of course. There were plenty of things that frightened him - fire, venomous bugs, Fred in a Speedo. And he was terrified, absolutely white-knuckled horrified, of the changes he went through whenever he was around the teen. Scared of how those dark eyes sent shockwaves all through him. Scared of how being near him made his heart pound, his knees weak. He was different whenever he was near Evan - slightly less sharp, slightly more vulnerable, and slightly less perfect, and utterly unable to stop himself from feeling that way.  
  
Pietro was aware of that -- painfully aware -- and tried to compensate for it by making his movements faster, his quips wittier, and his posture more rigid, but it never really helped. He always felt "less-than" whenever he was around the blond, and it scared him. But it frightened him more that there could be a love so strong that it made him, in so many respects, weaker.   
  
"Come on, Maximoff. Think of it as a ~challenge.~" Evan grinned. "How can you resist?"   
  
Pietro's eyes narrowed. Evan knew him well -- too well. And for all the wrong reasons. "You won't have a chance. And why would I want to waste my time on something you can't possibly win? That's not fair."   
  
"Well then you don't have anything to lose, do you, Quickie? And when have you ever cared about being fair to an X-Man?" Evan asked. "So, what do you say?"   
  
The speedster stood unnaturally still. Evan's confidence was making him very nervous. But love of his life or no, he was Quicksilver, dammit, and Quicksilver never backed away from a challenge. "All right."   
  
"What?" Evan blinked in surprise. "Really?"  
  
"Really. If that's how you wanna play it . . . fine," Pietro said through clenched teeth. "You want hints? I'll give you hints. You want clues? I will give you clues until you choke." He got in the blond's face until they were nearly nose to nose. "And you'll ~still~ be clueless."   
  
"We'll see," Evan replied coolly. "So what are the rules? Is there going to be a limit to how many I get? I think I could probably get it in five."   
  
"Props for the confidence, but no." Pietro shook his head. "If we're gonna make this a ~real~ challenge, you've got to stay in the game for more than two seconds. Here's how it's gonna work: I'll give you 25 . . . hints. Five a day for a week at school. You get to ask a question - ~only~ one - after each clue. After you get your five for the day, you get three guesses at the person. You get it right, then you get what you want - the identity of your admirer. You don't get it in 25, well, then you'll be playing the guessing game alone, 'cause I won't tell you anything."   
  
"And do you get anything if I don't?" Evan asked.   
  
Heartache, depression, frustration . . . that, for starters, would be his "reward" if Evan guessed wrong. But then, he'd get that, probably, if he guessed right. Pietro shook his head curtly. "Besides the satisfaction of knowing that I'm ~still~ better than you - no."   
  
"That sounds fair. It shouldn't be ~that~ hard. Bayville's not that big a school."   
  
"No . . . it isn't. But this," Pietro lightly tapped the darker boy's forehead, "isn't that big a brain, either."   
  
"Whatever." Evan frowned slightly. "But you gotta play fair, man. If I get it right, what guarantee do I get that you'll tell me?"   
  
"Daniels!" Pietro's eyes widened. "I'm shocked . . . wounded that you'd think I do something like that--" In the midst of his dramatics, Pietro banged his hurt arm against a tree. "Owowowowow! Anyway, I wouldn't cheat - I wouldn't have anything to gain by lying to you."  
  
Evan still looked skeptical, but he nodded. "All right. I'll trust you. You're asking a lot . . . but I guess I don't have much of a choice."   
  
"No. Guess you don't." Pietro glanced around. The wind was blowing his hair in his face, and suddenly began to feel cold again. His head was feeling better, but the cold was seeping through the rip in his sweater, chilling him to the marrow. It was time to leave -- not that he really wanted to. He could tell Evan was still eager to talk about his "admirer," and Pietro himself was not exactly anxious to return home to the cold, cheerless Brotherhood house. But he'd promised Todd he'd be home before too long. And under the circumstances, it was probably just as well that he go home, rest up, fantasize about Evan some more, and ponder how something so simple and straightforward as a crush could turn into an all-out, full-scale competition.   
  
"Gotta go, Daniels." Pietro sighed. "We'll pick this up tomorrow. Meet me after school at the track at Liberty Park. Alone, of course."   
  
"Um . . . okay." Evan appeared a little uncertain. "But, Liberty Park's kind of . . . far from school, isn't it?"   
  
"Only a couple of miles." Pietro smirked. "Don't be lazy. Use your little skateboard if you want. But you don't show, deal's off."   
  
"Fine, fine. I'll be there." Evan glanced at his watch. Five more minutes until Kitty would return. He hadn't realized it was so late; Pietro was leaving just in the nick of time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Maximoff."   
  
"Good. This should be . . . interesting." Pietro pulled the sleeves of his shirt as far down as they could go over his chilly, pale arms and stretched tentatively, ready to depart. "Tell me . . . you have any thoughts about who it might be?"   
  
"Huh? Well . . . I dunno." Evan frowned thoughtfully. "I guess . . . no . . . not really. Haven't really thought about it, to tell the truth."   
  
"Oooookay. Is there anyone that you hope it ~isn't~?" Pietro asked nonchalantly. On his injured arm, the bandage shifted and uncomfortably against the split skin, but Pietro ignored the pain, keeping his eyes on Evan.  
  
The blond looked mystified. "What? What kind of a question is ~that~?"   
  
~A good one.~ Pietro looked thoughtful, but kept quiet for some moments. "Tomorrow, Daniels. Don't be late." The boy turned away and took a few steps forward, his hands in his pockets. He stopped suddenly, and whirled around. "You know . . . I think maybe I'm making this a little ~too~ hard on you. So in the interest of good sportsmanship, I'll give you ~one~ hint. Free of charge."   
  
"Really?" Evan smiled. "Cool! So I get six tomorrow?"   
  
"Uh-uh. You get ~one.~ Right now."   
  
Dark eyes went wide. "You will? Now?"   
  
"Now." Pietro nodded. "Watch closely, Spyke-boy. Don't blink."  
  
"Huh?" Evan asked puzzled. "What do you-"  
  
The brown-skinned teen jumped back, startled. Pietro was gone, leaving a trail of leaves dancing in his wake.   
  
Evan stood stunned for a moment as leaves rose and settled around his feet. "What the hell kind of a hint is that?"  
  
He glanced around for a few moments more, still a little dazed by the fleet-footed mutant's abrupt departure. He wondered if Pietro wasn't just playing with his mind somehow. Really, what sort of a hint could he get from Pietro's vanishing? People couldn't just ~disappear,~ of course. Except for Pietro himself, if he was running fast enough. Or Kurt . . .   
  
Evan stopped short. ~Kurt? Could it be . . .?~ His cheeks burned at the thought. Sure, the German boy was cute - in a fuzzy way -- but ~Kurt~? Goofy, Gut Bomb-loving Kurt?  
  
"Nah," he said aloud. "Kurt's hardly friendly with anybody in the Brotherhood except Tabitha." He stopped again. "Hmmm . . . Tabitha . . . she lives with them . . . and she and Todd are kinda tight . . ."  
  
Lost in thought, the blond moved toward the bench and sat facing out toward the quad, while a few feet away, Pietro peered around a tree, watching Evan's every move. Startling blue eyes caressed the dim figure sitting on the solitary bench, huddling in his jacket against the cold air.  
  
~He looks so . . . alone.~ Pietro stared at the boy, feeling the desire to hold him, or, at the very least, go back and talk some more. He fought the urge, however. ~No. I've made enough of an ass of myself tonight. It's time to call it a day.~ He turned away then, zipping off at something less than Quicksilver speed just as Kitty and Lance, arriving from the opposite end of the quad, emerged from the shadows. 


	6. Six

AN: Another bridge chapter. I swear that actual action will take place next chapter. I just don't want to jump right into action without setting up those events. Thanks for continued reading! Oh, and if you feel so inclined, please read the prequel to this story, "Taking the Initiative."   
  
  
~Six~  
  
  
The sound of leaves being crunched underfoot drew Evan out of his meditative state, and he looked up quickly, half-expecting, half-hoping to see Pietro and his ever-present smirk before him again with a more concrete clue than the one he'd given - or at least an explanation of the first. Evan frowned a little, feeling slightly disappointed to see Kitty and Lance walking across the courtyard toward him. Lance had a protective arm around the petite girl, as they strode quickly through the grassy area. Light from the blinking lamps overhead bathed the couple in a harsh white light, and Evan could see them clearly as they approached - Kitty was now wearing Lance's vest, and both were carrying paper bags dotted with oil stains.  
  
"Omigod, Evan! I am, like, soooo sorry we took so long," Kitty gasped out as soon as they came near. "We had to wait in this long line, and then they mixed up the orders, and then this poor lady started screaming that somebody stole her dentures. It was a total zoo." She held out the paper bag. "Here -- we got you some Krispy Kremes. They're still warm." Kitty glanced around the vacant square. "You must have been totally bored out of your mind out here. We, like, ~so~ owe you."  
  
"It's cool. I kept busy. Just a little cold out here, though." Evan opened the bag, inhaling the yeasty, sugary, sweet smell of glazed doughnuts - his favorite. "So, where'd you guys go?"   
  
"Right around the corner. There's this new arcade over on Atton," Lance answered. "Place is huge - they hand out maps at the door and you gotta take a number just to stand in ~line~ for the bathroom."  
  
"You'd love it, Ev," Kitty said. "They've got all these ramps and stuff in the back for skateboards. It was packed, though."  
  
"Cool," Evan said around a mouthful of glaze. "It's about time this town gave some love to skaters. What's this place called?"  
  
"Multilingual. Pretty cool, huh?" Kitty replied. "And it's got this really intricate mini-golf section - 21 holes! Lance and I played, and I kicked his butt!"   
  
"Yeah, well, brag while you can, Kitty-kat, 'cause it ain't happening again," Lance shot back, grinning at his girlfriend. "You were just lucky I didn't unleash my patented Alvers Swing (tm). I didn't want to scare you."  
  
"'Alvers Swing'? The only scary thing is that you actually spent time to come up with that." She gave him a playful punch. "And speaking of scaring, you didn't seem to worry about frightening that guy who was playing in front of us."   
  
"~That~ was different." A fleeting shadow of anger swept across Lance's face. "All right, Daniels, check it: Kitty and I were behind this total jerk and his date on the course. This guy was so busy showing off for her that he was slowing everybody else down. So I ask him if Kitty and me could play through. I asked him ~nicely.~"   
  
He looked at Kitty for corroboration, and she nodded. Lance continued, "I was polite, and it was only one fucking hole. But this asshole flips me off, which pissed me off enough, but what set me off - Kitty comes up trying to keep me from smacking the guy, and this dickhead ~hits~ her in the foot with his fucking putter!"  
  
"It was an accident," Kitty added quickly. "The guy apologized, but he was really jerky about it, so Lance starts making the ground shake --"  
  
"Uh-oh." The blond swallowed painfully. Having been on the business end of an Avalanche-induced tremor more times than he cared to remember, he could only imagine the terror that it could cause people who ~weren't~ expecting one. "Isn't that kinda dangerous with all those people around?"  
  
"It wasn't anything big." Lance said. "Just a little shakin'. Nobody got hurt . . . and this asshole hit Kitty! No way I was lettin' him get away with that!"  
  
"I tried to stop him, but . . ." She shrugged expansively. "It really wasn't a big deal, Ev. Nothing fell or anything - except this jerk's toupee." She trailed off, giggling. "It landed right on his date's shoes. She started screaming, and that poor guy was just standing there totally bald with everybody staring at him and his hair on the seventh hole next to the windmill."  
  
"Hey, she shoulda thanked me," Lance said. "Probably the first time she'd ever felt the earth move when she was with him."   
  
She and Lance fell into each other, laughing. "Evan, you should have ~seen~ his face." Kitty giggled. "I almost felt sorry for the guy, he looked so lost. He didn't even pick his hair up. He just stood there looking like someone had just kicked his dog. His date finally just left him there. When we let, we saw her totally flirting with one of the waiters."  
  
"Man, this place sounds wild." Evan munched another doughnut. "I definitely have to check it out."  
  
"It was sooo much fun. I wish we could have stayed longer." Kitty's voice was wistful. "We didn't even get to finish our game. We lost so much time at the beginning just waiting for stuff."  
  
"It's all right, Kitty-kat. We'll go back soon, I promise." The strained, sorrowful tone of Lance's voice was a stark contrast to his self-assured words. "And next time, I'll keep a lid on the tremors. Maybe."   
  
"Oooh, can I, like, get that in writing?" She looked up at him, flashing a brief, dazzling smile. "Nobody'll believe you actually said that unless I, like, have some sort of proof."  
  
Lance beamed down at her, and the two gazed silently at each other for several seconds before the dark-haired boy moved in for a kiss. Evan, feeling extremely out-of-place at that moment, shifted his attention elsewhere. Feigning a sudden interest in a blade of dried-up grass, the blond reflected on the ridiculousness of the situation. Kitty and Lance deserved better than this, than to have to slink around to meet, or to have something so special as a good-night kiss observed by a third party, or to have to cut their time together short because someone might get suspicious. It was silly: the Brotherhood and the X-Men weren't fighting anymore - not really - and it was so obvious to everyone who knew Kitty or Lance that the two were crazy for one another. Yet the two obviously felt there was a need for the charade, so how much had relations changed that much between the two teams since what happened on Asteroid M? Evan hadn't really given it much thought until that night.   
  
~I couldn't do what these two are doing.~ Evan focused his attention on a nearby leaf. ~Having a relationship is hard enough without bringing in a whole other crop of obstacles.~ He had a brief, anxious thought about the person who allegedly liked him. It would suck, and suck royally, if it were somebody who was disliked in the X-Mansion. Like most of the cheerleading squad and Tabitha, for example. Sure, the Professor had said the errant girl could rejoin the X-Men whenever she wanted to, but no one really seemed to miss the blonde girl. And since Tabby had joined the Brotherhood, she was openly hostile to many of her former teammates - especially Jean - so there was little hope of any reconciliation. Evan shuddered a little: Boom Boom was cute, and interesting in a combustible way, but for the sake of harmony in the Mansion and his nerves, he hoped that his admirer was a little more self-contained than Tabitha Smith.  
  
He glanced up quickly. Kitty and Lance had stopped kissing, and were standing with their arms wrapped around one another and their foreheads pressed together.   
  
"I guess I gotta let you go." Even as Lance said this, he wrapped his arms tighter around the girl.   
  
"Only for a little while." She smiled sadly, shrugging out of his vest. "I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Right." Lance managed a small smile, taking a few steps backward. "Tomorrow."  
  
The blond stood apart from the two, a fleeting image of angry blue eyes and Pietro's sneer coming into his thoughts unbid.   
  
~Yeah.~ Evan looked at the bench near where he'd last seen the pale boy when they' d formulated their challenge. ~Tomorrow.~   
  
~*~  
  
Pietro stumbled up the stairs of the Brotherhood home, sweat pouring down his pale face. From the time he'd left Evan to the time he'd arrived at the rundown Victorian, an hour had passed - an hour during which he literally run himself ragged zipping through Bayville. He wasn't sure if he was running to help keep from thinking about the blond or because he really didn't want to go home. It didn't matter anymore in any case - he was walking through the door and Evan was again on his mind.  
  
~Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. I am fuckedfuckedfuckedfuckedfucked.~ Pietro pushed open the door, and passed soundlessly through the foyer into the dimly lit living room. The television blared uselessly in one corner, and Pietro could see Tabitha sprawled out on the couch, one leg dangling limply off the edge. He gritted his teeth - the girl was only lying there, but the girl didn't have to do much to get on his last nerves.  
  
"That you, Rocky?" Tabby's drawly, lazy voice set Pietro's teeth on edge. "Better get to those dishes. I think I saw them moving in the sink." Her head popped up from the couch, and she grinned at the sight of the pale youth. "Oh. It's ~you,~ Speedy. What have you been up to?"   
  
"Playing in traffic."  
  
His voice was clipped and succinct, and he delivered it while moving toward the kitchen, and without a glance in the girl's direction. The scary thing was that it was true: Whenever he had a surplus of tension to work out, he played a simple game he called "The Dodge." Only ~his~ version involved Bayville's main drag at rush hour. The fleet-footed boy delighted in zipping back and forth across the crowded highways, winding around the rushing cars at the speed of light. He was always able to get out of the way in time, always able to spiral around the speeding vehicles with an ease that was almost laughable.   
  
It had been different that night, though. It was well past rush hour and the strip had been less crowded than usual. It was a good, thing, too, because Pietro had been decidedly less sharp, less fast, less into the game. His mind was full of thoughts of Evan - thoughts that distracted him, made him slower. He weaved in and out of the traffic, unseeing, unhearing, senseless to everything except the speed, for an hour or more, stopping only when he'd tripped - something that had never happened in all the times he played Dodge. He recovered in time to lunge to the side of the road and thus avoid being flattened by a lumbering pickup truck. The game lost its appeal then, and Pietro rushed home with little thought about his brush with death. He had more important things with which to occupy his mind.  
  
Pietro walked toward the kitchen, sniffing cautiously. A rather . . .disturbing aroma coming from the small room was derailing his thoughts. ~Great. They let Todd cook again. Like we don't have enough problems.~ He reached the threshold of the kitchen and looked in. A dim haze hung in the air. Tired eyes scanned the room and came to rest on the source of the smoke and the odor - a casserole dish sat on the stove, burnt black as charcoal, tendrils of sickly looking smoke still rising from it.   
  
"'Tro! You're back! Um . . . I don't think you want to go in there, yo. We're still letting it air out."  
  
Pietro flinched at the voice, glancing over his shoulder sharply to see Todd standing behind him. The younger boy's spindly arms were trembling under the weight of schoolbooks. "The lasagna got a little burnt, but it wasn't too bad. You hungry?"   
  
"~That's~ lasagna?" Pietro gazed at the blackened pan and was reminded of the time Tabitha decided to energy bomb the dishes instead of washing them. "It looks like its ~moving.~"  
  
"It was all right." Todd sat at the kitchen table, spreading his work out in front of him. "Except, we were out of ricotta and mozzarella, so we used cream cheese and cheddar. Um . . . and we put mustard in 'cuz we ran out of tomato sauce." Todd shrugged at Pietro's pained expression. "I know it sounds gross, but it beats starving."  
  
"I'm not so sure about that," the silver-haired boy said dryly. He threw himself into the chair opposite Todd "So. Lance still isn't back."  
  
"Nope," Todd frowned into one of his textbooks. "Where do you think he's going all these nights? I'm startin' to worry about him, yo."  
  
Pietro glanced out the slightly open kitchen window, which framed a portion of the inky night in a neat square. His brow creased slightly. "No idea. I lost him just as I got to the Library. The jeep is outside, though - he can't have gone that far."  
  
"The jeep's outside because we don't have money for gas," Todd said grimly. "And it's not like he took the car when he went running to the X-Freaks, remember?"  
  
Pietro didn't answer for a long moment. He'd never forget Lance's brief defection, and in many aspects, and he didn't think he'd ever entirely forgive him for leaving, but he was more than ready to move past it. "Lance is ~not~ going to ditch us for the X-Geeks again." The speedster wished he could sound more confident, but it had been a long night. "Maybe he's taking up jogging. Who knows? There's not as if there's anything interesting to do ~here.~ "  
  
"Yeah, but still. It's like he can't bother to be around us or anything. He comes in, stays in his room, or else he goes out for hours and doesn't say anything to us. Like we're diseased or something. Fucking X-Geeks . . . I think they screwed up his mind or something. He better snap out of it soon, though, yo. We ain't playing that Xavier shit in ~this ~ house." He made a dismissive sound before turning eager eyes on Pietro. "But whatever. So, how you feeling? How's your head? What happened with Daniels after I left?"  
  
"Nothing good." Pietro rested his chin on the table and was at eye level with one of Todd's books. "Thanks to ~you.~ It is only because I am very tired and I don't want to get these pants any dirtier than they already are that I don't kill you right now. What the fuck were you ~thinking~?"  
  
"I dunno, man." Todd idly rolled a pencil across the table. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I only wanted to help. I didn't think you'd ~faint.~"  
  
"I didn't ~faint.~ I - I tripped." Pietro muttered, raising his head. "And it - it wouldn't matter if I ~had~ - don't try to make this about ~me.~ I made a simple request for you to please keep quiet about the thing with Evan, and that included keeping your mouth shut around ~him.~"  
  
"I know, but it's just . . . I just thought I . . ." Todd squirmed in his seat. "I . . . aw, fuck, man, I don't know. I guess I just hate seeing you all mopey and sad and stuff. We got enough of that in this house."   
  
Pietro began to speak, but shut his mouth quickly. Something in the timbre of Todd's voice halted his words, and the speedster remained silent.  
  
"You know I don't have any love for Daniels - or any of the other X-Geeks, for that matter," Todd went on. "But you ~do.~ And if being with him is what's going to make you happy, then, I wanna do what I can to help you do that - and I know enough to know that what ~you're~ doing ain't gonna get it, yo. So I gotta push you. That's what friends do, right?" The younger boy looked a little worried. "Um . . . we are still friends, right?"  
  
"Mmmmm." Pietro rubbed his forehead, remembering the fall from the stairs, the aftermath. "Well, considering that I probably would have been wearing my brain on my shirt if it weren't for you, I think it's safe to say that yeah, we're still friends." He grinned at Todd's surprised look. "Evan told me what happened after I, er, tripped. And you say you're not fast. Maybe I'm rubbing off on you after all."  
  
"I could think of worse things, yo," Todd said quietly, and Pietro smiled for real then. "Look, Quickie: I was just trying to help. If I screwed things totally up with you and Daniels -"  
  
"You didn't screw it up totally, no. But luckily, I was there to finish the job." Pietro's shoulders sagged a little. "I thought you'd told him ~everything.~ I heard you say 'Pietro' when he asked you who wrote the letter. When we were on the steps. ~That~ much I remember."  
  
"You mighta heard me, but he didn't." Todd said. "That was right at the time you took your little trip, and he wasn't paying much attention to me at that point. I swear I was gonna spill the beans, but when I saw you fall, I just . . . I felt guilty. I knew you weren't ready for him to know yet. So I backpedaled."  
  
"And told him that I ~knew~ who it was." Pietro's eyes narrowed in frustration. "Who ~she~ is."  
  
"She?" Todd stared, stopping his pencil in mid-roll. "She who?"  
  
"The sweet, lovely little girl who's in love with Daniels, of course." Pietro's voice was bitter. "~You~ know - our mutual friend."  
  
"Speed, I have no idea what you're talking about. You sure your head's feeling okay?"  
  
"It's a long story," The snowy head dipped low. "And thanks to my stupidity, it's about to get longer." Slowly, he filled Todd in on his wager with Evan, growing more and more agitated with every word. Many times, Todd seemed on the verge of speaking, but he always managed to stop himself from interrupting. Pietro was grateful for that - he needed to just . . . talk . . to give voice to his frustrations and let it all out. After the night he'd had, he needed to have a sounding board - and Todd performed that role without complaint.  
  
"So now everything's perfect. Just great," Pietro finished, banging his hand on the table. "Sucked into yet another challenge by Daniels that I have no way of losing. He's screwed - by me, but I get no pleasure out of it."  
  
"More than I needed to know, Pietro." Todd rolled his eyes. "But you could have at least told him it wasn't a chick. That would have helped him out some."  
  
"Why? He thinks he's such a hot shot, he won't need me giving him any more help than he'll already get." Pietro's lips thinned with annoyance, and he decided not to tell Todd about the little hint he'd given Evan before leaving the park. "Believe me: He'll get plenty of opportunity to figure it out."  
  
"So you're seriously gonna go ahead with this?" Todd asked, his voice dubiously. "Quickie . . . there's only so many people at Bayville. If you're legitimate with these clues and stuff, he'll figure it out, yo. Nobody's that dumb."  
  
"You don't know Evan like I do," Pietro said with a sardonic smile. "He'll go through these next five days, and he'll be just as lost as when we started."  
  
"And if he's not? If he does find it out somehow?" Todd closed one of his books. "You prepared to deal with that?"  
  
"Of course. I'm a man of my word. If he guesses right, I'll own up to it." Pietro spoke without meeting Todd's gaze. There were no words to describe the terror that would be his world if Evan discovered he was in love with him. He knew - and he suspected Todd knew, too - that there was no way he'd come clean; even if the blond "won" the contest. "But I don't ~have~ to prepare for it. I wouldn't have agreed to this if I thought I had any chance of losing, after all."   
  
"Bullshit, yo. The point of taking a challenge is that it's not easy - and there's a chance that you will lose. Otherwise, what's the point? If you're gonna win anyway, why bother?" Todd stared hard at his friend.   
  
Pietro paled, then colored. "Sometimes I like taking it easy. Is that such a crime?" There was an awkward silence. "And I get to be close to him for a few days. It's . . . it's been awhile since Daniels and I have ever spent any time together when we weren't trying to kill each other. It should be fun - or, uh, something. As long as long flights of stairs aren't involved, there at least won't be any physical damage to worry about." He smiled crookedly.   
  
"I'm getting a real bad feeling about this," Todd replied. "Nothing good's happened since you've been trying to hide how you feel - Lance is acting all distant, you nearly busted your head open, and Tabby's ~still~ here. I think this is an omen, yo; only bad things will happen if you don't tell him."  
  
"Todd, you've been watching Psychic Friends too much." Pietro's eyes rolled skyward. "There are no such things as bad omens, okay? That's not real. There's just me, and Evan, and a friendly wager." He rested his chin in his hands. "It's the simplest thing in the world. Nothing I haven't done a zillion times before."  
  
Todd looked at the speedster for what seemed an interminable time before shaking his shaggy head slowly. Pietro knew that look - it was one of resignation, of capitulation. Todd had given in. "It's your show, Quickie. If it's okay with you, then . . ." The teen trailed off, shrugging. "So. This whole thing starts tomorrow?"  
  
Pietro stared again out of the kitchen window at the black starless night. It seemed unnaturally dark out - sinister, almost foreboding. ~But Evan's out there, too. Across town - in his big, bad mansion - but if he's looking out his window, he's seeing the exact same nothingness ~I'm~ seeing. We're seeing the same thing - almost like we're connected, or something.~   
  
The thought comforted Pietro, for some reason, and when he turned back to look at Todd, his face was more relaxed. Serene.  
  
"Yeah." His hand caressed the tabletop. "Tomorrow." 


	7. Seven

AN: This chappie is so long that I'm splitting it in two. Don't hit me! I kinda like this chapter (which probably means it sucks royally.) But ah well! Evietro forever, baby! And Scarlet Witch will be on Evo in approximately eight more days :D Screen time for Quickie = happy BatE. Oh, and I do not personally wish Kurt any harm . . . so Kurt lovers (ahemInternutterahem) please don't hurt me for this chapter. The Fuzzy one will not be harmed. Luv ya :D Oh, and I'm not writing his accent anymore. I can't do it well, and I won't subject you all to it anymore. Oh yeah, and as always, review if you please. Words of encouragement (and constructive criticism, too) inspire me.  
  
  
AN addendum: The day before Wanda's Evo debut is BatE's birthday! So send those good vibes, happy thoughts my way. Goodness knows I could use 'em.  
  
  
  
~Seven~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Evan --  
  
I saw you this morning, before school. You were with some of your friends, and you kind of fell off your skateboard. You were so smooth about it, though -- I was impressed. When you were getting up, you looked right at me. I thought I'd melt right then and there! I'll be thinking about your eyes for the rest of the day.   
  
Love,  
XXXX  
  
  
  
"Dude! This girl sounds like a winner!" Kurt smiled as he peered over his friend's shoulder at the note. "You wipe out on your board, and she still likes you. Marry her."  
  
"That wasn't my fault, man. One of my wheels was loose." Evan elbowed the other boy into silence as they headed to the outdoor lunch area. "Old piece of junk. My folks are gonna bring me a new one when they visit next week."   
  
Evan again glanced at the letter, admiring the neat penmanship and the way the letter "I" was dotted with hearts. He'd been surprised, in truth, to find the missive: he thought that after the . . . misunderstanding occasioned by the last note, his mystery girl would take a different approach to getting his attention. Apparently not. ~But damn . . . why'd she have to see me ~fall?~   
  
"Sweet. You locked eyes with your dream girl and didn't even know it," Kurt said with a grin. "This is the stuff multimillion-dollar movies are made of, dude."  
  
"Yeah, that really burns me." Evan frowned heavily. Kurt was right: The situation was like a movie - a bad one. "This sucks out loud, man. I mean . . . she was right in front of me, and I didn't realize it."  
  
"So you didn't notice ~anyone~ interesting?" Kurt asked. "No mysterious dark beauty with flashing eyes swooning at the sight of you?"  
  
~Gross. That sounds like something out of those corny books Auntie O keeps under her bed.~ Evan's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I didn't see anybody, man, At least not anybody I remember in particular. I was working on this new routine when my board crapped out on me." He slipped the note into his back pocket, attempting to remember if he'd noticed anything -- or anyone - out of the ordinary that morning. Nothing came to mind, however; he saw Jean escorting some of the newest members of the X-Team to class, he'd seen Scott a few times, Risty Wilde once, and a few others, but no one who stood out, really, with dark and flashing or any other type of eyes.   
  
He and Kurt walked out into the bright Bayville day. It was a nice mid-autumn day - sunny with just a hint of chill. Good football weather, Evan thought. Unfortunately, getting tackled usually caused him to shoot a spike or two. He'd dropped junior varsity football in a hurry the first time ~that~ had happened. He hid a smile remembering how one of his bone fragments sailed at the coach and took the clipboard out of his arms, pinning it to the wall. ~Hmmm . . . I wonder if Coach's gotten out of that mental hospital yet . . .~  
  
"I saw some people from the mansion," Evan said absently. "But I don't remember anybody hanging around . . ." He looked around the crowded lunch area, his eyes eagerly flitted from one female face to another as if the information he needed would be written on their foreheads. That didn't happen, of course. Rather, he found many of the girls he looked at rather . . . commonplace, ordinary. Not to say they weren't attractive -- they were. But it was in the same bland way: same style of dress, similar hairstyles, and same plastic smiles. He frowned a little, thinking that he wouldn't really have noticed any of ~these~ girls if they had been watching him - especially if he was focusing on boarding. ~Well, it's not like every girl in the school is out here,~ he reminded himself with some degree of relief. ~And besides, anybody who's close with Tolensky and Maximoff can't be ~too~ boring . . . or too sane, either.~   
  
"Well, maybe your mystery girl will be around again after school. You'll be skating, right, since there's no basketball practice." They were not far from their lunch table, but Kurt rummaged in his lunch bag and began chomping on a sandwich. "You might want to keep your eyes open, mein freund."  
  
"Um . . . yeah. Maybe." Evan glanced at the ground, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. The first day in more than a month that there was no basketball practice, and instead of spending his free afternoon practicing moves on his board, he'd be hanging out with ~Pietro~ of all people. Evan gritted his teeth, wondering what sort of torture the speedster had in store for him later as their contest began in earnest. The blond had run afoul of Pietro enough times to be a little apprehensive. ~Why won't he just tell me?~ Evan unwittingly crumpled the bag containing his lunch, squeezing his tuna sandwich into a tuna pancake. ~But maybe ~she~ told him not to. She seems kinda shy . . . won't sign her name - or even initials. Fuck . . . this is gonna drive me crazy! Who ~is~ she?~   
  
"Hey . . . when you do finally meet her," Kurt said, polishing off a second sandwich, "ask if she has a sister. Maybe we could double date."  
  
"What - first I do your trig homework and now you want me to help you get a girlfriend, too?" Evan said with a smile. "You know you're my man and all, but this friendship thing can only go so far."  
  
"Hey . . . the Fuzzy Dude needs some love, too." Kurt peered into his paper bag. "Um, but more important, the Fuzzy Dude needs another sandwich. You gonna eat yours?"  
  
The darker mutant shook his head and was about to answer his friend with some variation of "shove it," when a slight movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head a little and was startled to see Pietro looking right at him. He was sitting with the rest of the Brotherhood at a table on the outskirts of a circle of lunch tables. The white-haired boy wore a wistful, almost dreamy, expression - one that dropped the minute Evan met the speed demon's eyes.   
  
Pietro sat bolt upright then, and his soft features became stony, serious. A shudder ran through Evan, and the blond slowed his steps, wondering what it was about Pietro's eyes that made him so nervous. It wasn't just the color -- they were like liquid sky, a deep, disturbing blue - but there was also an incisiveness about them that was unnerving. He had a way of looking at a person that made it appear as if he was stripping away the very layers -- skin and such -- probing to the bone. In that, Evan thought that it was probably much more uncomfortable being the target of one of Pietro's denuding gazes than it would be to look a shades-less Scott full in the face - though a look from Pietro wouldn't result in serious ~bodily~ harm, at least.  
  
Evan nodded uncertainly at his rival, who barely inclined his head in reply. The blond looked thoughtfully at the silvery strands, suddenly feeling more skittish than ever about what would happen after school, though he couldn't say why. The eyes were part of it, but there was something else . . .  
  
~This is stupid. I notice Maximoff, but not the girl who's supposedly crazy about me.~ Evan grimaced as he and Kurt walked on. ~How messed up is that?~  
  
~*~  
  
~Yeah, Evan. I'm watching you. And, goddamn it, that's ~all~ I can do. For now.~  
  
Barely moving his head, Pietro continued to track Evan and Kurt's - but mainly Evan's - progress across the yard. He hadn't seen him since early in the morning before school. Evan had been palling around with his skaterboy loser-friends on the school's back lot. Pietro had found a nice little perch where he could stand relatively unobserved and watch as the object of his affection did spins, jumps and other incomprehensible things with his skateboard. And then poor Evan had fallen on his face, much to the amusement of said skaterboy loser-friends. Pietro had been a little concerned, but couldn't help but grin at the sight of his rival all sprawled across the ground. He had to give the blond credit for getting up quickly and continuing his skate as if nothing had happened.   
  
Pietro decided to allude to that morning's episode in the note he deposited in Evan's locker before lunch began. The speedster had been ready to deep-six the letter campaign after the first disaster, but decided to start again to give Evan a bit more help in their little contest than just the 25 clues. Pietro feared that the letters would just confuse the blond teen more, but maybe that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either. And besides, Pietro ~needed~ an outlet, needed to give vent to the mishmash of feelings inside him, and burdening Todd with it all wasn't the answer. Writing the little notes gave Pietro a chance to let Evan glimpse a bit of the ~real~ him . . . the Pietro that he wouldn't -- couldn't let Evan see. Not yet, anyway. The Pietro that no one - save Todd -- and, perhaps, one other . . . person - even knew existed.   
  
~I wonder if he's gotten it yet. He seems . . . chipper.~ Pietro gazed at the mocha-toned boy as he and Kurt approached a table in the middle of the circle at which Summers, Kitty, Rogue and other assorted X-Members sat. Evan slid in next to Kurt, and Pietro's jaw twitched. Too close. The dark-haired mutant was sitting entirely ~too~ close to Evan, in the speedster's opinion. He could see Evan taking something out of a brown paper bag - something flat - and holding it out to his neighbor. Kurt took whatever it was, looked at it, laughed, and reached out to stroke Evan's back. Pietro nearly choked at that, and his body temperature seemed to rise a few hundred degrees. The hand lingered on the blond's back and Kurt's mouth came close to Evan's ear, whispering something. Evan laughed at whatever had been said and gave a short answer in return. Then ~Kurt~ laughed, much to Rogue's annoyance it seemed. During the exchange, Pietro noticed with a look that was getting increasingly dangerous, that the German boy's hand remained on Evan.  
  
~Touching him! That furry freak is ~touching~ him!~ The silvery teen glared at the back of Kurt's neck, wishing that he could, for a moment, swap powers with Lance and open up a chasm beneath the furred mutant's feet. ~I'd even switch with Shades . . . it'd be nice to blast Fuzzy Wuzzy into another dimension.~ A slow, cold smile spread across the pale face as he imagined blue, downy limbs splattering over the far wall of the school.  
  
"Damn, Speed." Todd leaned across the table, and Pietro looked up quickly, now jolted out of his grisly daydream. "You're squeezing the hell out of that Coke, yo. You all right?"  
  
Pietro glanced down, a little startled to find that he was gripping a handful of crumpled aluminum. He wondered idly how much more force it would take to do the same thing to Kurt's head. ~Maybe if I start lifting weights . . . ~   
  
"I'm fine. Just getting a jump on recycling." He brought the crushed can up to his lips, casually looking over at the X-Table again as he did so. Kurt hands were off Evan finally and on various foodstuffs, which he was shoveling into his mouth with a speed that would have impressed Pietro if he hadn't wanted to kill the boy. Evan was engaged in an animated discussion with Kitty, who had the decency to keep her hands to herself. Of course, it would have been hard for the girl to fondle Evan from across the table - assuming that she wanted to, of course, Pietro conceded.   
  
"What the hell is so interesting that you keep staring over there?" Fred's voice sliced through the relative quiet like barbed wire. "You wanna sit with the X-Geeks now?"  
  
Pietro nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the half-full soda in his lap. In fewer than two seconds, he learned a very important lesson -- namely, icy wetness in the crotch area was a very, very bad thing. But an angry Fred - and he sounded pretty pissed - was much worse.  
  
"Iwasn'tstaringIwasjust -- Aieeee!" He wriggled like a fish on a line as the full effect of the way-too-cold soda registered on way-too-sensitive areas. Todd stopped eating, giving his friend a look that was half-questioning, and half-"I-don't-want-to-know." Pietro calmed down as best he could, which wasn't much. He felt icy shivers radiating where icy shivers never ~should~ radiate - except in certain situations. "Iwasonlylookingtoseeif -"  
  
He turned wildly toward Fred, but the immovable teen, whose cherubic face seemed to have turned to granite, wasn't listening to him. Fred wasn't even ~looking~ at him - it was Lance he was talking to. Lance, who had been looking in the direction of the X-Table, looked over in surprise, and he faced down his hefty teammate with dark, dangerous eyes.  
  
"Fred, what the fuck are you talking about? I wasn't staring at anything - you've been talking this shit all morning," the earth-shaker snapped. "It's Bayville and the X-Geeks are all over the place no matter where you look. What the hell do you want me to do?"  
  
"Maybe pay a little attention to ~us~ for a change," Fred shot back. "I asked you the same fucking question five times, but did you hear me? Nooooooo . . . ~you~ had your eyes glued to ~them.~" He jabbed a meaty finger at the table in the middle. "What the hell's that all about?"  
  
"I ~heard~ you the first five times," Lance said angrily, shoving away his food tray in one violent motion. "So for the ~fifth~ time, yeah, I made the sandwiches. No, I ~don't~ know what kind of ham that is; I just grabbed what was on sale. Satisfied? I ~told~ you all that already - maybe you were too busy stuffing your face to ~hear~ me."  
  
"Yeah, whatever." Fred growled. "Maybe if you'd taken us ~with~ you on your little shopping spree yesterday, I wouldn't have had to ~ask~ the question."  
  
The table went silent. Lance and Fred sat opposite each other, erect -- unnaturally so - tension radiating like sunbeams off their bodies. Freddy, whose bulky, flabby frame usually jiggled at will no matter how still he was, looked as solid as steel and immovable, indeed. Lance just looked angry and more than a little tired. Pietro and Todd exchanged knowing looks. Ever since Lance had started his nightly sojourns, Fred had gotten more and more perturbed. ~He's on probation ~with~ us,~ the blond had said during one of the first nights Lance had pulled his disappearing act. ~You'd think he'd want to spend time ~here~ proving that he's sorry for what he did. Where does he go, anyway, that he won't tell us where it is or when he'll be back?~  
  
The speed demon had wondered the same thing. He and Todd were not in agreement with Fred and Tabitha that Lance was maintaining some sort of secret communication with the X-Men, but Pietro was as curious as everyone else as to what exactly Lance was doing, hence his little "project" in tailing the rock-tumbler on his nightly rounds. Not that he'd uncovered anything - good or bad - but it was a neat way to keep occupied on the nights his frustration about the Evan situation threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
"Look . . . I told you - it's just easier for me to go to the supermarket alone," Lance said. "If you all are crammed into the Jeep, where are the bags supposed to go?"  
  
~On our laps . . . like we used to.~ Pietro eyed the older boy narrowly, a little unnerved by the excuse. ~Or under the spare in the back . . . it hasn't been ~that~ long since we've all been to the FreshMart together--~  
  
"Yeah, but you didn't take the Jeep last night," returned Fred. "It sat all night cause we didn't have the cash to gas it up."  
  
Lance paled a little. "I didn't ~say~ I took the Jeep last night."  
  
"Well then don't use that as an excuse, then!" Fred glared hard at his teammate. "And where the hell did you get the money from to get ~any~ food? I thought we were broke."  
  
"We are." Lance said bluntly. "But I managed to find some dough."  
  
"Yeah? From where?"   
  
"Around," he answered without looking at the hefty teen. "What difference does it make? I got it. It's not like it was a lot."  
  
"It makes ~plenty~ of difference," Fred yelled. "What's with the secrets? Why can't you just ~tell~ us stuff and stop all the sneaking around? Don't you trust us?"  
  
"Fred, come on, yo . . . calm down." Todd grabbed one of the bigger boy's arms. "People are looking -"  
  
Pietro looked around - Todd was right . . . the lunch area had gone eerily quiet and people from several tables away, including the table at which the X-Men sat, were staring their way. He watched Evan watching Lance, and couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of jealousy, though he was sure Lance could care less about Evan looking at him. Pietro nearly fell off his chair, though , when the brown eyes swung his way suddenly. He froze, feeling a searing blush suffusing his skin. Evan tilted his head a little, brow furrowed in a silent question. Pietro blinked rapidly and managed to shrug his shoulders slightly - though it was more an involuntary movement than anything. At that moment, Pietro was scarcely aware of the movements of his body, just concentrating on the dark teen across the courtyard whose gaze was holding him in thrall. The corners of Evan's mouth lifted into a smile and he shrugged also, absently rubbing his bottom lip with the tip of his milk carton. A bit of milk trickled out over the full lips, and Evan, perhaps lacking a napkin, licked away the excess, his tongue moving lazily over his mouth. Azure eyes followed the movement like a cat lying in wait for a mouse, and the speedster was sure he'd temporarily lost the ability to speak.   
  
~Ohmygodohmygod . . .~ Pietro bit back a moan as he became quickly and uncomfortably aware of how little room there was in his slacks. ~Gottacalmdowngottacalmdowngotta--~  
  
"I don't give a fuck! Let 'em stare." Fred snapped, bringing Pietro out of his little moment. "When we let you come back, you said things would be different . . . but it's been the same bullshit since the minute you walked back through the door."  
  
"No, ~this~ is bullshit," Lance popped up from the table like a jack-in-the-box, and a slight tremor made the trays dance atop the table. "Enjoy your lunch. I'm outta here."  
  
"~Now~ where are you going?" Fred stood, too, shaking off the restraining arm Todd placed on his shoulder. "You running off to them again? Go ahead . . . at least you're doing it in front of our faces ~this~ time."  
  
Lance's face turned the color of day-old ashes. "I'm goin' to take a piss. You wanna come watch? Or do you don't ~trust~ me enough to be able to do that alone?" Lance's eyes glimmered beneath the heavy fringe of brown hair, but the pallor remained. Without taking his eyes off Fred, Lance dug around in his pocket, and brought out the keys to the Jeep.  
  
"Here. Take the car. I got something to do after school." He tossed them into the middle of the table, and they landed with a sad clang next to a lone apple. "It's got gas - just make sure Tabby doesn't get anywhere near the wheel."  
  
"Uh . . . what's up after school, yo?" Todd asked softly, almost fearfully. "There's no games or anything today . . ."  
  
"Got detention," Lance answered shortly. "Later."   
  
He turned away, stalking off across the courtyard. Pietro noticed that the rock tumbler took the long way back to the main building, walking right by the table of X-Men. Every one of them stared as he walked by, but Lance didn't spare a glance to anyone sitting there, so far as Pietro could see, and soon disappeared around a corner.  
  
Fred just stood there, his expression unreadable, as the tension in the air dissipated, and everyone in the yard lost interest and went back to their food.   
  
"Fred . . ." Todd began.  
  
"He's lying," Fred said blandly. "He's lying to us . . . about the money . . . about where he goes . . . Why does he have to lie?" He remained expressionless, but the voice was tinged with bewilderment. "Why?"  
  
"Fred . . . come on, yo." Todd stood beside the blond. "This wasn't the time or place to get into all that. When we get home . . ."  
  
"Home. Right." Fred shook his head. "I see him more ~here~ than I do at the house." He looked at Todd then at Pietro. "And even when he is at home, it's like he's not there . . . like he wants to be somewhere else - like with ~them.~" He leveled a savage glare at the X-Men.  
  
"He ~was~ with them, Freddy. And he got the hell out," Pietro said with a sigh. "You know how the X-Geeks are . . . ~they're~ probably in his ear - or his head - all the time asking him to come back . . . but has he? No. Will he? No."  
  
"You don't know that . . . unless you can read his mind," Fred retorted. "'Til last night, I didn't want to believe that Tabby might be right about Lance spying for Xavier, but-"   
  
"Dammit, Freddy, for the last time - he's ~not~ spying for Shinehead!" Pietro felt a little better now that his pants were drying out some. "What would be the point? We're not ~doing~ anything half the time except starving and freezing to death."  
  
"Then where's he getting the money to get the food?" Fred asked. "I ~know~ my groceries: The ham in our sandwiches? That's Black Forest brand . . . top of the line. I can tell by the way it's sliced -"  
  
"And you say you don't have any talents, Freddy." Pietro smirked.  
  
"I'm being serious!" Fred looked angry. "That stuff costs, like, $5.99 a pound . . . there's gotta be two pounds at least in the refrigerator. And it's ~never~ on sale. ~Never.~ So he lied about that. And those doughnuts we had this morning . . . they're Krispy Kremes! Krispy frigging Kremes!"  
  
"I thought they tasted unusually good," Pietro murmured. "And Lance was smart enough to get glazed - the best kind on Earth."  
  
"Naw, yo. I like the Boston cream," Todd cut in. "Especially when the chocolate glaze is-"  
  
"Will you two shut up and listen?" Fred thundered. "My point is, the day before yesterday, we were eating old peanut butter with ~no~ jelly on stale bread, and today, we're eating Black Forest ham and Krispy Kremes. And those sodas we're drinking are ~real~ Cokes, not the fucking store brand that gets flat the second you open 'em. It doesn't make any sense. Where else ~would~ he get the money if not from Xavier? It ain't like we got any friends with money . . . or any friends at all."  
  
"Maybe he's lifting it off somebody," Todd said. "Some rich prick with a fat wallet and crap for brains. There's enough of that type around here."  
  
"Or maybe he's stealing the food," Pietro suggested. "Think about it - he goes into a supermarket, starts a low-grade quake, then while everybody's screaming and running for cover, he cleans up. Everybody's just so happy to be alive that nobody notices a few pieces of meat and some sodas missing."  
  
"No." Fred's fists were clenched at his side. "He would have told us if that was going on . . . it's not like we'd tell anybody . . . besides - what if someone saw him? He'd want us to cover for him, right?"  
  
Pietro glanced at Todd, who held up his hands in an exasperated gesture. "Okay, look: so he's getting money from somewhere . . . maybe. But it's not ~from~ the Geek Squad. He was at Bayville University last night - I saw him there myself," Pietro said. "There's a lot of rich idiots there, and Lance looks like he's old enough belong on campus. Maybe he's scamming some loaded chick out of her book money."  
  
Fred thought that over a minute. "How could he do that?"  
  
"Freddy, if ~I've~ gotta explain ~that,~ then there's no hope for you at all." Pietro grinned lasciviously, and Todd laughed low, but Fred's expression did not change. "That would explain the secrecy. He's keeping maintain a low profile over there; he can't have ~us~ bumbling in and messing up his little scheme."  
  
"Yeah . . . he probably has her thinking he's some bigwig from the City," Todd said. "If she finds out that he's just some high school loser living in a dump on the west side, we can kiss our Krispy Kremes goodbye."  
  
"Yeah. If he ~has~ a little scheme." Fred eyed Pietro warily. "But you didn't see him with anyone, so ~we~ don't know."   
  
"Okay, Fred, listen closely: It's not like we made it easy for Lance when he told us he wanted back in, right?" Pietro said, gnawing his lower lip. "In fact . . . we got him on a pretty tight leash . . . no late, late nights . . . he's gotta let us have first dibs on the TV . . . he's on perpetual dish and trash-duty . . . and no X-Geek fraternization - including with his sweet little Kitty cat -- for at least another week. Now, you know Lance -- ~why~ would he let us put him through all that -- ~especially~ the Kitty thing - if he didn't want to really ~be~ with us?"  
  
"Yeah. Lance knows he belongs with us, not the X-Losers," Todd added. "We're his family, remember? He said so."  
  
Fred looked down at the table for a long moment. "I grew up in a foster home, stayed there 'til I was 10. Alone," he began in a voice so low that Pietro had to lean halfway across the table to hear. "Then I got in the truck show, and I stayed there about six years too long. Alone." The large mutant looked up, and Pietro felt his heart thud painfully at the sorrow in his teammate's face.   
  
"I don't know much about family," Fred said softly, picking up the tray Lance had left behind. "But I know that what we have going at the house right now . . . that ain't it. What we got now ~ain't~ family. It's just a bunch of freaks who don't have any other place to go."  
  
He didn't give the others a chance to reply, but turned his back to his teammates and walked off, the tray still in his hands.  
  
"Should we go after him?" Todd asked, looking worried. "He don't look so good."  
  
Pietro was quiet awhile, dabbing his still-damp lap with one of Lance's discarded napkins in an attempt to disguise his own concern. It seemed Fred was taking Lance's return harder than the boy had taken his departure. And that was saying something. "Let him cool off a second," the speedster said lightly. "He's probably just ticked at Lance for leaving him alone with Tabitha all night last night . . . you can't blame him for being mad about ~that.~"   
  
"Then why's he not mad at us? We were out for a long time, too." Todd looked doubtful. "Whatever. This is bogus. We're the fucking ~Brotherhood,~ and we're arguing about damned ham sandwiches and shit. Fighting each ~other.~ If this ain't playing right into Xavier's hands, I don't know what is. I ~told~ ya'll this probation thing was lame. If we were gonna let Lance back in, it shoulda been with no strings attached. Now, everything's all fucked up." The younger mutant got up from the table. "I'm gonna go try to talk to Fred. I just don't like to see him mad, yo. It makes me nervous. You comin'?"  
  
"Er . . . well . . ." Pietro thought quickly. He still had to work out the day's clues for Evan. He had quite a few in his mind, but had not yet narrowed them down to the five he'd use. And the end of the school day was fast approaching. The end of the school day, and he and Evan would be ~alone.~ He had to get ready. Every word, every gesture, every nuance had to be rehearsed and committed to memory. Everything would have to be absolutely perfect . . . he had to prepare himself.  
  
But the speedster recalled the anger he saw in Lance's face, the hurt look on Fred's . . . the sadness in Todd's . . .   
  
Fred was wrong, Pietro thought, pushing his hair out of his eyes. The Brotherhood was family. Like it or not . . . they ~were~ family.  
  
And for family, one had to make sacrifices.   
  
Pietro's gaze sidled over to the X-Table. Evan was downing yet another carton of milk, his skin glinting like a dark jewel in the afternoon sun. Beautiful. Pietro swallowed hard.  
  
~Sorry, Daniels. Looks like you're gonna have to wait.~  
  
"I think ~you'd~ better talk to Fred," Pietro said with a sigh. "~I'll~ tackle Lance . . . see if I can pry anything out of that hard head of his. It'll be a challenge, or something."  
  
Todd's face brightened. "Sounds like a plan. Between the two of us, we'll get things straight."  
  
"Or get flattened trying." Pietro rose and walked with the younger boy. "It'd be a quick death, at least."  
  
"Have some faith, Quickie. It'll be all right." Todd looked down, frowning a little. "Hey, yo - what's up with your pants?"  
  
~*~ 


	8. SevenB

**AN: I have risen! I think ::checks:: Many apologies for the delay of new material. Between RL, lack of inspiration, and meltdowns of many sorts, including the meltdown of my hard drive, which took this chapter and other fics with it, it's been a helluva time. Thanks to all for words of encouragement, thanks to my online budlings PB, Med, Mor, Nai and Alena ::huggles::, and just thanks to you all for reading. And reviewing ::stern glare::**

This is the continuation of the last chapter, so this is more like chap 7-B than it is chapter 8. But FF.net is silly. Also, don't think you'll have to wait four months for another update. The next chap will come sooner than you might imagine. ::cackle::

This chapter goes out to Kelly, whose artwork and friendship inspire me, and to Zeb, whose timely birthday e-mail set me upon the path again. 

*****

A scowl etched itself firmly into Lance Alvers' brow as he stared vacantly into the dark, narrow void he called his locker, only half-seeing the heaps of books, papers, torn clothing and other odds and ends he kept stored in the space. He grasped the locker door, feeling the thin metal give a little under the pressure of his fingertips, and wondered if there would ever come a day when he _didn't _feel like going home and banging his head repeatedly into the nearest wall. 

It was quiet and oddly still in the corridors of Bayville High. In fifteen minutes, that would all change -- the ringing of final bell would sound, setting off the controlled chaos that typically marked the end of the school day. At the moment, though, all was quiet, silent . . . peaceful. 

_God-fucking-dammit!_ Lance rammed his fist into his locker door, the tinny report echoing through the hallway, disturbing the calm for a moment. His scowl deepened. 

_Fuck! Why today? Why the fuck _today? __

A Big Mac run gone awry had shortened the school day for students in Mark Krygek's American History class. The scatterbrained teacher had returned late from his lunch break and locked his car keys in the trunk – which, inexplicably, he didn't discover until he was well into discussing the economic repercussions of Reconstruction. He dismissed the class immediately, to the delight of _most _of the students. The mortified teacher hurried out close behind the thong, oblivious to the dark look a lanky, still-seated student was aiming him, but absently aware that the ground beneath his feet seemed to be shuddering.

Ignoring the throbbing in his fist, Lance yanked his jacket from the confines of the locker he'd spent an inordinate amount of time glaring at. Shutting the door with a resounding bang, his gaze swept the still empty hallway. The early dismissal might have made his classmates happy, but it had the potential to get the rock tumbler's afternoon off to a sucky start. 

Since he and Kitty had begun their clandestine rendezvous, they'd followed the same routine for meeting after school – Lance would loiter in the hallways five minutes or so after the final bell sounded, _conveniently _finding himself walking down the very corridor where Kitty's locker was located. He'd walk by the girl slowly, his presence usually nicely shielded by other students in the hallway. He managed to break free of the crowd just long enough to catch her eye. In a split second -- usually, that was all they had before one of them became obscured by their fellow classmates -- Lance could tell, either by a quick nod or a curt shake of her head, whether he would be spending the afternoon in the company of the lovely X-Girl or if he'd be listening to Tabby screech along to her No Doubt CD back at the Brotherhood abode.

It was a neat little system, and worked like a charm every time -- well, there _was_ that _one_ incident in which some girl had knocked into him just as he was looking for the signal. He missed it, and as a result, stood alone in the rain for a half-hour. But that aside, it was foolproof -- but the window of opportunity was minuscule. The little scene had to take place in the same spot, at the same time as scheduled, or else something could go very wrong.

And already, something_ had _gone wrong, thanks to Krygek and his airheadedness. Ordinarily, being let go early would not have been a big deal; Lance would have just cooled his heels until the bell rang and then proceeded as usual. But _that day, after the lunchtime scene with his Brotherhood brethren, Lance knew he couldn't just hang around. Dark eyes narrowed as the image of a furious Fred elbowed its way into the forefront of Lance's consciousness. The argument he'd had with the hefty mutant had rankled at the older boy all day. It was hours later, and Fred's words still rankled, making something deep within Lance shudder. Fred's expression, the tone of his voice, the way the immovable teen had interrogated him seemed like something out of a cop drama . . . it was wild. And highly disturbing._

He was aware that his activities might pique the interest – and suspicion – of some of his housemates, and had been prepared for questions, insults – maybe even veiled threats – from Pietro or maybe Tabby. But Fred? Fred, whose world-view seemed to be limited to eating, causing general mayhem and  . . . eating . . . _Fred _was questioning him? Either the husky blond had undergone a complete personality transformation in the short time Lance had been away, or he was not being as careful about covering his tracks as he'd imagined.

Neither thought appealed to Lance. There was a whole week left in his "probationary" period. Before that afternoon, he thought he could breeze through the days covertly pursuing Kitty while patching things up with his teammates. Now, he wasn't so sure; if Fred continued on his case, things could get scary – and could become even more so if the rest of the team started scrutinizing his movements. So far, Todd, Pietro and even Tabitha had appeared largely unconcerned with his comings and goings – or so he'd thought. Fred's outburst could be indicative of suspicions the rest of the Brotherhood shared. Lance couldn't forget the odd coincidence of Pietro's showing up at his and Kitty's rendezvous point, but he'd been happy enough to dismiss it as just that . . . an odd coincidence. Now,he wasn't so sure it was, and that uncertainty was making him crazy.  

Lance's head snapped up at the sound of footsteps close by. A trickle of anonymous underclassmen moved down the hall, their voices harsh in the white-noise calm of the corridor. Lance checked his watch – five minutes left. He considered his options – he could hang around, proceed as usual. He walked slowly to the end of the hallway in the direction of Kitty's locker.

He knew he couldn't linger long. After the scene at lunch, Lance didn't feel up to another possible confrontation with any of his teammates. He'd already been worn down by Fred's verbal pummeling, and Pietro's follow-up talk . . . was something else again. Something he was sure _both of them would rather forget. But Lance had to laugh, remembering the look on Pietro's face when -- _

The shriek of the final bell caught him in midstride. The almost simultaneous opening of classroom doors startled him into inaction for a moment as the hallway became flooded with laughing, yelling, annoying fellow students. Hunching his shoulders, he moved along with the swell of the crowd, eyes darting this way and that, keeping his eyes peeled for familiar faces. One good thing about Fred was that it was impossible to miss him – on the other hand, it would be equally impossible to avoid the huge teen if their paths happened to cross. He bowed his shoulders a little more and dropped his head lower.

A logjam of grunting football players slowed Lance's progress, and for a moment, he was stuck, unable to push through the masses at his back or forward through the wall of thick-necked muscle. Battling the desire to clear a path for himself by opening a gulch beneath the goon squad, Lance pressed forward with a fierce frown. Craning his neck to see beyond those in his way, he noticed a slight gap between the beefy bodies that he'd be able to squeeze through if he exhibited some . . . insistence. Getting his elbows ready, he made a dash for the space, but screeched to a stop when he spotted Pietro walking toward him, winding effortlessly through the crowd. His initial alarm in seeing his teammate was replaced by curiosity as the speedster came closer. Pietro's expression was serious -- almost solemn – quite different than how he appeared during their "talk."

Lance continued his surreptitious study as Pietro passed close by, but not looking over at Lance or anyone else in the hall. The slender teen was headed in the opposite direction of the parking lot, where Lance assumed Freddy, Tabby and Todd were waiting in the Jeep. He wondered just where he was going, and . . .  what the _hell was he wearing? _

Lance turned to watch the retreating back until it was obscured by the crowd. The earth-mover shook his head slowly. And the Brotherhood had the nerve to say _he was__ acting weird . . ._

~*~

Evan was _very into mazes, but this was getting ridiculous._

School had ended twenty minutes before, and for at least that amount of time, the blond had been fighting his way through a wall of humanity that clogged the halls in what was becoming an epic-length attempt to collect his skateboard from his locker. There were about 500 students at Bayville High, and by the looks of it, every last one of them were packed in the small stretches of hallway, milling around the hallway like drowsy bees. Evan never understood how these same people who counted down the very minutes until the end of the school day could find nothing better to do than hang around the building after the final bell had rung, crowding the hallways and blocking most of the exits. 

And if that weren't enough to tick him off, it seemed every step he took toward freedom, someone was there to block him. First, Kurt had cornered him after their last class, wanting to drag him off to shoot hoops. Evan had begged out of it, pleading a "prior commitment," which Kurt – bless him – accepted and moved on. But no sooner had he gotten rid of Kurt and had gone three steps forward than had Rogue had accosted him, asking if he knew whether Ororo or Jean was cooking that night. Evan hadn't been too sure, but he figured that after the last time Jean had tried to _cook, the mansion had to be evacuated, so it was pretty safe bet that his Auntie O would be pulling dinner duty. He told the goth girl as much. Rogue looked dissatisfied for a moment, though Evan was sure that's what she wanted to hear, and then shrugged and said she'd be eating at Risty's, asking him to make the appropriate excuses to Professor X and the rest. _

After that, Evan had made somewhat steady progress down the clogged corridor after, but was stopped three times in succession – once by a few of his skating buddies, all of whom had been totally floored when he declined to run routines with them. Then Scott, materializing out of seemingly nowhere, had pulled him aside to remind him that the team was meeting downtown in an hour or so to pick out a birthday gift for Hank – and that if he were even two seconds late, his name wouldn't be put on the card. And _then one of his group of skating friends had caught up to him __again, asking to borrow his knee pads and related safety gear – since __he wasn't going to be using them that day._

 With each encounter, Evan's irritation grew, and he felt the tingle just beneath his skin that usually preceded spike shooting. On any other day, when he had absolutely nothing to do but grab his books and literally spin his wheels all afternoon, he'd have been able to navigate the hallways uninterrupted. But it _would have to be the one time that he was in a rush that everyone seemed to need something from him. He grit his teeth and pressed on, sure that if one more person stopped him, he'd shiskabob them._

As Evan approached the end of the hall, the crowds seemed to ease and he was able to breathe and move more easily. Relaxing a little, he made quick work of the hallway, striding steadily to his locker. The plan of action looped in his brain: grab the books he needed. Grab his board. Take off for Liberty Park and hope that foot traffic was light. Glancing at his watch, he grimaced, and lengthened his steps. Evan had watched Pietro fly out of history class looking less disheveled than the _last time he'd seen him. So the speed demon was probably at the park at that very moment. The pleasure afforded by the thought of the silver-haired boy waiting around for him was tempered by the haughty words spoken the night before:_

_You don't show, Daniels, deal's off . . ._

Evan had no doubt that Pietro wouldn't wait indefinitely – boy had the attention span of a sand flea, after all – and there was a very good chance that he'd waited for about 5 minutes then given up. Evan held out hope, however, that Pietro would cut him some slack and wait around in the interest of good sportsmanship. Sure, the speed demon had never exactly been guided by that principle before, but there was always hope. Besides, Evan felt ready to explode. He'd thought about the note all day, taking it out several times to reread the words he'd already memorized. In class, he could barely keep his focus, and kept looking around, hoping for some clue as to who it might be. And as much as it rankled him that he was subjecting himself to one of Pietro's games, it would all be worth it to solve the mystery and/or if it worked out. _Especially if it worked out – which it could, Evan reasoned, despite the shaky start and Maximoff's involvement. _

But first things first – getting to Liberty Park and submitting to the torture that was spending time with Pietro seemed the only way that he'd get any answers, so away he'd go. He shoved his hands in his pockets, fingertips brushing the exalted note. A smile warmed his features, and he drew the letter out, his eyes caressing the sunny paper as he continued down the hall. Turning a corner, he reached the end of the missive – down to that elusive, maddening XXXX, and he sighed, the corners of his mouth turning downward in a thoughtful frown. _Who are you? He stared at the paper, the silent question echoing in his head. __Where are you? _

Evan looked up quickly, a little self-consciously, aware that whoever this was might be watching him right now just as he'd been watched earlier in the morning. The idea should have appealed to him, but a prickle of anxiety danced along his spine, and he breathed deeply. The way was clear, the hall was open, and finally, every barrier gone.

He turned a corner, took one step, and then . . . stopped. Dead.

For a moment, Evan was a bit disoriented, vaguely aware that his mouth was open and his jaw slack. Was he in the right hallway? The right school? The right planet?   
  
Evan blinked once, twice, three times - expecting the scene to change each time his lids snapped open. But it didn't. He was still in the same hallway, still staring at his locker and the unfamiliar girl standing in front of it – or, rather, beside it. She was half-turned toward him, her profile intermittently obscured by long, dark, hair. Brown hands were pressed against the slats of his locker, something fluttering between the fingers. A piece of paper. A piece of _yellow paper. Evan leaned forward, his heart pounding in his ears. _

_Holy fuck. __It's . . . it's  her. Evan edged closer, fascinated, as she continued her struggle at his locker. __It's her. It's gotta be! Wow . . . finally!   He smiled goofily and his fingers curled around the snippet in his hand. If he could have, he would have kissed every putz who'd waylaid him – even Kurt – though the thought of fur in his mouth was not appealing. But nevertheless, he had them to thank for delaying him long enough to witness this . . . __beautiful sight. _

Evan moved cautiously, soundlessly down the hall, pondering his next move. Should he say something? _Do something? On the one hand, he didn't want to jump the gun and scare her off – this was someone too shy to talk to him face to face, after all. But then again, he felt he should make __some move. It was by the purest of accidents that he'd stumbled across her; a more perfect opportunity to approach her might not present itself again. He wavered, weighing his options -- the one side of brain telling him to do the one thing, the other side advising the other . . . _

And suddenly, the decision was taken out of his hands. She turned sharply, chocolate-colored strands whipping and settling around her shoulders, and her liquid gaze settled on him. 

Everything became a bit hazy for a moment, and Evan saw the girl start to move. Somewhere in the recesses of his sluggish brain, a voice screamed at him to do _something to stop her. He stepped forward a little, opened his mouth --_

"Hi! I didn't think you were still here."

-- And closed it. Quickly. Blinking in surprise, Evan tried to process just what was wrong with the picture. She was looking at him evenly, giving him a thoroughly lovely smile, and didn't seem the least bit startled, frightened or embarrassed. Not exactly what he would have expected from a girl too shy, apparently, to even sign her name on a scrap of paper.

 "Oh, sorry . . ." She looked at his locker, at him, and then back at the locker. "Do you need to get in here?"

Evan walked hesitantly forward, still unsure as to what his course of action should be. Introducing himself would be unnecessary  – of _course she knew who __he was. In the same vein, he didn't feel he should ask who __she was. That would be . . . almost rude. And besides, looking at her now - taking in the slight figure, the hair - the dark eyes, he had the vague feeling that he'd seen her somewhere before._

"Evan?" The girl tilted her head, her expression slightly confused. "Is there something wrong?"

His brain unlocked, and his body jump-started itself again. "No!" he said loudly, startling them both. "Uh . . . no. I mean . . . nothing's wrong. I  . . . uh . . ." He shuddered at the sound of his voice. _You sound like a fucking retard! Say something cool! Something smooth! Say something__ . . . _

A slightly coherent thought formed in his mind and he tossed it out like a life preserver.  "Um . . . you look familiar."

Later, Evan would consider his words and realize that it wasn't so much the _wrong thing to say as it was a __dumb thing to say. The hallway throngs aside, Bayville was still a pretty small school – definitely tiny compared to PS 104 – so there were very few faces that were completely foreign to him. But still, it was the only thing his brain offered up that didn't sound like "Guhhhhhhh."_

"Well yeah . . ." she glanced at him sideways, her nose crinkled cutely. "I _do sit behind you. . ." Mistaking Evan's thunderstruck expression for one of incomprehension, her tone turned gentler. "In English? Mr. McAlevy's class?"_

"Oh . . . right!" Evan mentally slapped himself. English was one of the only classes in which he stayed remotely awake . . . _how could he have not noticed someone like __her? Well, she __did say she sat in back of him, but still! No excuse! He would think that he'd recognize the possible girl-of-his-dreams. "It's just that, um, you look . . . different." He was aware of how lame it sounded, but he couldn't seem to stop the stupidity from coming out of his mouth. "Uh . . . I mean . . ."_

 "Yeah, I cut my hair." She ran a tentative hand over the loose, dark tendrils, and beamed at him. "I didn't think anybody had noticed."

A silent sigh of relief. _Score one for the Spyke-Man. "It looks nice." His confidence grew along with her smile, and he was searching for an appropriate follow-up, when his gaze dropped to the forgotten paper fluttering from her fingertips, the latest, no doubt, in a series of letters singing his praises. So she was smart as well as beautiful. This just kept getting better. "Uh . . . is that for me?"_

For a minute, Evan thought that he'd said yet another stupid thing, because the girl gave him an odd look, but then followed his gaze downward and smiled sheepishly. "Oh this!" She gave the paper a little shake. "Yeah! Sorry, I totally forgot. Here." She held the paper out toward him. "I thought you'd left, so I was going to just leave it in your locker, but I can't figure out how to get it in there, so I guess it's good that you were here, after all."

Ah, denial. Evan resisted the urge to smirk. Like she hadn't been slipping notes in there without a problem. But if she wanted to pretend, fine. He could play along. "Yeah . . . it was a . . . good thing." He emphasized the last two words as he took the paper from her hands. His own fingers trembled a little and he studied the missive with eager eyes. There it was: the neat handwriting . . . his name written prominently atop the page . . . a few red marks . . . a . . . B-minus?

"It was stuck to the back of mine." Her voice seemed far away as Evan stared at the object in his hands, no love note but his 500-word essay on _Grapes of Wrath. A gummy-looking smudge right above the minus sign caught his attention. It looked a little like a grape jelly stain. "I tried to catch you after class, but you'd already left."_

"Thanks . . ." Evan continued to stare at the paper, which he realized, was not the tell-tale yellow at all, but only seemed so in the light. A keen sense of disappointment thrummed through him, but he wasn't upset, really. She still _could be the one. . . maybe she'd snagged his paper somehow so she'd have a ready excuse if ever she was discovered. But the "not quite right" vibes were beginning to return._

"Not a problem." She shrugged lightly. "Well, guess I'll see you around?"

He looked up. Maybe he was imagining things, but the way she said "around" seemed . . . insinuating. 

"I hope so," he said in his smoothest voice, and was rewarded with another wide smile just before she turned and walked away. He stared forlornly after her, aware that he hadn't asked her name. It wouldn't be hard to find out, though; he had friends who paid slightly more attention during class than he did. Maybe one of them could –

"Evan?" She whirled around suddenly and walked back toward him, a skittish smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah?" His heartbeat sped, and his palms began to sweat. The girl's expression had changed from one of detached amusement to . . . something he couldn't quite identify. And the tan cheeks were flushing a particularly interesting shade of red. 

"Um . . . I was wondering . . ." She bit her lip and looked down, then up. "Well . . . um . . . you know . . . you're friends with Kurt . . . Wagner. Aren't you?"

_Kurt? That was . . . unexpected. "Um . . . yeah. We're tight. You know him?"_

"Well, not really. I mean . . . sort of." She ducked her head and giggled – giggled! – toying with a yarn bracelet around her wrist. "We have some classes together. Well one, anyway, though next semester, we might have more than one. And I know who _he is__, but I'm not sure he even knows I . . ." The girl trailed off, shaking her head ruefully and giggling again. "Sorry. I'm rambling. Anyway . . . when you see him, could you tell him that Amanda from math said . . . hi?"_

"Amanda from math." Evan nodded. _Amanda. Amanda. Easy to remember.  "Said hi. Got it. No problem."_

"Thanks!" She was smiling so hard, Evan thought the corners of her mouth might meet at the back of her head. For a brief moment, he was thought the girl was going to hug him, but she then she was walking away again, stopping only to give him a slight wave goodbye. He watched her until she turned a corner and then sighed, fumbling his locker open with one hand. He glanced in, eyes seeking another slip of yellow paper. Finding none, he folded up the graded assignment, tossed it in, grabbed his skateboard and jacket and shut the door tightly. With his board secure beneath one arm, Evan looked at the morning's letter again, his thumb running thoughtfully, almost reverently, over the words. Amanda. He smiled dreamily – she _could be the one . . . but there was, for the moment anyway, only one way to be sure . . ._

 ~*~

_He's not coming._

Pietro glanced at the field house clock just as he made the turn into his seventeenth lap. It was well past three-thirty, though the gathering clouds that sporadically covered the sun made it seem a little later. A cold wind whispered through the tops of the trees that ringed the small park. Pietro quavered a little when a gust hit his sweat-soaked shirt, chilling the damp skin beneath it. He forced himself to run slower, slower, slower still as he circled the track once more. Lap eighteen. And still no sign of Evan.

Not that he could really blame the blond for blowing him off. After his little performance_ at lunch time, Pietro wasn't sure his rival would ever __look at him again, let alone __talk to him. Gritting his teeth, he dug in his heels and pounded up the length of the track, forcing his mind to clear. It was done. Wouldn't do any good to dwell on it. So he wouldn't. Not now, at least. Not here. Not while he was in his haven. _

Calling it a _haven, was, maybe a stretch, but not much of one. Pietro had discovered the place right after Lance had left. Needing to escape the oppressive gloom that settled around the house after the rock tumbler took off and seeking an outlet for his unresolved feelings toward Evan, he'd discovered the underused, overgrown parkland and began running there regularly. The ovalish track was cracked and worn, the bleachers were falling part, the weeds were waist high in some areas, and there was always a tall, old guy standing silent at the entrance wearing what looked to be a bathrobe, pointing in the general direction of New York City. Regardless, Pietro developed a liking for the place. He felt comfortable there. Secure. He was anonymous, unencumbered. Free._

For the most part, anyway. The place wasn't exactly popular, but there were always people around, which meant he had to rein in his speed. That had been difficult at first – it was frustrating enough having to decelerate to a "normal" level in order to seem "normal" while doing the "normal" things everyone else did. After years of mandatory practice, he was used to it, able to bear it. But when he _ran, it was different. It was the one time he could let go and just be himself – a rail thin, silver-haired kid who just happened to be able to move like the wind. . ._

 No . . . not _like the wind; he __was the wind – weightless, formless. Able to move everywhere, in all directions, at once. Unbounded and infinite. Powerful. Pure. __That was him. __That was who he was . . . __what he was._

But not at Liberty Park, and the other people around was only part of the reason for it: the first time he'd run there, it was dark and deserted, and he'd quicksilvered around the track, nearly breaking his neck when during an uncharacteristic drag of one foot, he'd caught one of the cracks in the surface. Also, when his body was on fast-forward, his mind was, too – so zipping around would be at cross-purposes with his desire to give serious consideration to the thoughts bouncing around his overcrowded brain. It had taken some getting used to, this foreign concept of running slowly, but he'd managed to adjust. A fair handle on his control and a few layers of clothes that made him look like a clothes hamper in sneakers helped with that. 

His clothes. Pietro looked down as he circled the track once more. He wore a baseball cap with the brim pulled down, board shorts that hung nearly to his heels, and three oversize T-shirts that clung to his sweat-soaked back and billowed out in the front. The large clothes emphasized his almost-unnatural thinness, and it was difficult for him to move in them, hence his affinity for attire that fit him like a suntan. But these gave him the drag he needed to move slowly. He'd changed into the things at school, the park having very sketchy locker-room facilities, and had gotten more than a few weird looks from the Bayville crowd. It was no more outrageous than some of the trendy, hip-hop, baggy stuff that _certain people wore. Certain dark-skinned, blond people . . ._

Swerving around a pair of chatty, power-walking women, Pietro glanced up at the clock again. Nearly quarter of four. Eyes darted to the entrance where the bathrobe-wearing man was stationed. Still no Evan.

The speedster rounded into lap nineteen, breathing heavily through his mouth. His face was scarlet, and he knew it had nothing to do with the physical exertion. He'd been stood up. Great. Just wonderful. The perfect cap to a wonderful fucking day. But he could be philosophical about it. It had been a stupid idea to begin with, this competition nonsense. Better to have it end before it ever started and just forget about the whole thing. 

He winced, an image of shocked brown eyes flashing into his brain.  Yes, forget. That would be best. Now if only his mind would let him.

@~~~#Flashback#~~~@

"Do you _want_ to see me naked?"  
  


"Pietro. . ."  
  
"I'm serious, Lance." The speedster did a little shimmy, his fingers hooking under the hem of his sweater. "You start talking or I start stripping. It's your choice."  
  


"Fuck _off_, Pietro."  
  
"Oooh, sorry, but _that's_ another category entirely." Pietro's voice was smug, and he grinned inwardly when Lance glared up at him. He was _finally showing some signs of life. Pietro had discovered Lance sulking in a hallway not long after he and Todd went to find their feuding teammates. The speedster imagined that Todd was finding Fred a lot more forthcoming – for a good five minutes, Lance had not even acknowledged his presence, no matter how loud and fast Pietro had railed at him._

So he decided more . . . _drastic measures were in order. Hey, it had worked once before when Lance refused to divulge the location of the remote control and Pietro had been on a sugar high. He wasn't anywhere near as wired at that moment as he had been then, but he needed to get some kind of response from the older boy. Fred's sadness, Todd's fear and his own mixed feelings made him pull out the stops. He considered it the ultimate example of "taking one for the team."_

"Are you gonna tell me what's bothering you? Or is the entire school gonna see us out here like this? Think of the rumors . . ."  
  
Silence. Searing glare. Pietro was unruffled.  
  
"No? All right then, the shirt comes off." the speedster pulled the garment over his head, waving it in front of Lance's face like a matador's cape. "Shall we go for the pants?" His hands strayed to his belt buckle, unclasping it. The trousers inched down the slim hips, gradually exposing his striped boxers, wiggling just inches from Lance's face.  
  
"What do you want?" The rock tumbler's voice was threaded with tension. "Can't you take a hint? I just wanna be left alone."  
  
Pietro halted in the midst of a gyration, the teasing expression fading fast.  
  
"You're always alone," he said softly, the cool breeze in the hallway raising the gooseflesh on his naked arms and chest. "We're supposed to be your fam - your friends. And you're treating us like shit." He glowered at Lance, whose demeanor seemed to have changed from angry to apathetic. "Now you can either tell _me what the hell your deal is, or I can let Freddy loose on you. __Again."   
  
_

"Whatever. I told you, I don't want to talk, so stop wasting your breath." He pressed a hand to the other boy's abdomen, pushing him away in a bored motion. Lance looked up, past his friend, and did a double-take.  "And maybe save the striptease for somebody who'll appreciate it." He grinned a little.  
  
Pietro felt the anger welling in his chest, but it drained away at Lance's smile. The earthmover's eyes were fixed on a point somewhere down the hall, and Pietro shivered suddenly, pinpricks of fear radiating throughout his upper body. And it wasn't the cold.  
  
He turned slowly to see what Lance was looking at and was met with the wide-eyed gaze of Evan, standing just a few feet away.

Pietro's brain morphed into tapioca at that point. Dimly aware that he was standing shirtless, with his pants nearly down to his knees, his underwear showing, and practically straddling Lance's face while the boy of his dreams looked on, Pietro made some attempt to do something more than stand with his eyes hanging out of his head. But Evan was already backing away, mumbling a startled phrase that sounded strangely like an apology, and quite soon he had disappeared from view.

Pietro pulled himself together at that moment, his whole body shaking. _Fuck. FuckFuckFuck. Fuck!  He clutched at his pants, which were sliding farther down his legs. Still staring wildly up the hall where Evan had been only a few moments earlier, Pietro made some effort to move, though his pants were still unbuckled and his shirt was in a discarded heap somewhere out of sight. _

He hadn't taken two steps before he heard the chuckle. A low guffaw at his back that stopped him in his tracks. Lance's voice. Words that froze the blood in his veins.

"Yeah, I'd go after him if I were you. Wouldn't want _him to get the wrong idea."_

Pietro turned around quickly, mouth dropping open. Lance was standing up, a knowing smirk on his face, stretching leisurely just as the bell rang.

"Later." Lance said in a bored tone, tossing something over his shoulder. Pietro flinched when his forgotten shirt hit him in square in the face, obscuring his vision just as Evan's expression had clouded his brain.

@~~~#End Flashback#~~~@

At lap twenty-eight, Pietro felt the familiar ache in his knees that usually presaged the end of his little workout. As Quicksilver, he could have gone three times that distance without so much as breaking a sweat, but as slowly as he was moving, his whole body was sore and he was dripping in perspiration. As enervating as it was, however, he usually felt rejuvenated after his runs, like he'd just endured some grueling physical test and had emerged little worse for the wear. That day, though, he just felt tired. The Lance problem, compounded with the Evan issue and all the nonsense going on at home . . . it was just too much. He would need at least another hour on the track just to work through _one of those problems in his mind – and he just didn't have it in him that day._

Another glance at the clock showed it was hard on four o'clock. Pietro slowed almost to a walk, using his sleeve to wipe away the sweat pouring into his eyes. After the episode in the hallway, Pietro had feared Evan might be put off their game, and he'd intended to leave another note in the boy's locker to whet his appetite for the chase. Some random girl had been puttering around it, though, and he never got the chance to drop it in. It probably wouldn't have mattered anyway, Pietro reasoned huffing down the straightaway in his final lap. He didn't exactly have a foothold on the blond's trust – and god only knew what he thought of him _now.  Pietro could just imagine Evan telling all the details to the X-Losers, all of them laughing their guts out at his expense . . ._

He thrust his hands in his pockets, the movement sending the large shorts even closer to the ground, and pulled out a square of yellow paper. It was the note he'd hastily scribbled in history class as he stared at the back of Evan's head. _Another one bites the dust.  Grimacing at it, he rounded, preparing to fling it away in the vague direction of Bathrobe Guy at the gates. But when he looked, the rangy man seemed to have gotten a little shorter. And stockier. And darker, too. And was wearing the most ridiculous polka-dot helmet . . . _

Pietro nearly fell over, though he couldn't tell if it was from exhaustion or Evan's sudden appearance. He had enough presence of mind, however, to stash the note. Swiping at the rivulets of sweat, he scrutinized his rival/crush, who, he noticed, was staring at him with only a slightly less-disturbed look than earlier in the afternoon. He was on his ever-present skateboard, rolling slowly toward the rusting railing that circled the running area. 

Ignoring the throbbing in his legs, Pietro went over, his throat filled with heartbeat and his mind whirring full-speed ahead. This was  . . . not very good. Resigned to Evan's not showing up, all of his practiced words had fled, and now that he was here, Pietro wasn't sure what the heck he was going to say. 

"Hey." Evan was leaning over the rail, looking his rival up and down. "I didn't even know that was you at first. What's up with the clothes?" The blond seemed particularly interested in the speedster's lower half. "Not really your style, is it, Quickie? Like the shorts though." 

"I come here to _run." Pietro removed his cap, pushing a handful of dripping hair out of his eyes. "But I can't exactly cut loose." He jerked his head in the direction of the people scattered along the track. "This stuff helps slow me down."_

"Oh. I get it." But the confusion in his face signaled to Pietro that he didn't get it at all. He could hear the unspoken questions. _Slow down? Why the hell would you __want to do that? He didn't feel like explaining. Though it'd be a lot easier explaining __that to Evan than telling the blond he loved him. A small comfort. He sighed irritably._

"Nice of you to stop by." Pietro looked at the clock. "I'd thought you'd finally gotten a brain cell or two and decided to quit while you were ahead. Save yourself the humiliation."

"I got hung up." Evan glowered at him. "And if you didn't think I was gonna come, why are _you still here?"_

Touché. Pietro took refuge in a scowl while he tried to think of a plausible answer to that one. Giving up, he decided on a version of the truth. 

"Told you – I come here to run." He looked around. The power-walking old biddies were there, doing more talking than walking, truthfully, and there were some people sitting in the grass near a smaller, second entrance to the park. They looked to be having a picnic of some sort. Other than that, they were alone. Alone. He and Evan. Something in that fact salved his fatigued muscles, flooded him with renewed strength. Made him feel more like himself again. . . even if a small part of him was scared witless. Okay. A not so small part. But he let that go for the moment. 

Regardless, when he turned back to Evan, he was smiling slightly and had a Quicksilver-worthy glint in his eye.

"Well you're here now." He folded his arms. "So are we doing this, or what?"

"Yeah. Sure." Evan cast a doubtful glance around. "I hope there's someplace to sit other than _there." He wrinkled his nose at the bleachers. "It doesn't look too stable."_

"Don't worry, Daniels. We won't be sitting there." Pietro smiled slightly. "We won't be _sitting at all."_

"Huh?"

"Think you can handle a few laps?" He indicated the track.

"Um . . . maybe," Evan replied after a pause. "But can _you? You look pretty thrashed, man."_

Thrashed. Not exactly the impression he was going for, but he imagined his sweaty, disheveled state wasn't up to par with usual immaculate look. That bothered him some, but he'd deal with it. Besides, he was used to thinking on his feet . . . something that gave him a definite advantage over Evan in their _game. _

"Looks can be deceiving, Daniels," he said mildly. "We're wasting time. Ditch the board, and let's go."

"Okay, okay," the other boy groused. "Just give me a minute." 

"A minute, huh? Slowpoke." Pietro leaned across the rail, watching as Evan skated over to a comparatively steady section of the bleachers and rolled the board underneath it while placing his backpack and helmet atop an aluminum row. His jacket joined the helmet, and after a moment's hesitation, Evan pulled his gray-and-burgundy sweatshirt over his head and laid it atop his jacket. He jogged back, his mouth set in annoyance. 

"Okay?" He looked expectantly at his companion, bracing himself by his forearms as he pushed against the rail, stretching his calf muscles.

"That . . . works." Pietro went silent a moment, shaded eyes taking in the teen standing before him in just a T-shirt, a pair of shorts, sneakers, and a grim expression. Pietro stared wistfully at the tight shirt stretched over broad shoulders and a pair of arms ripening with muscles. If Evan's body was great now, Pietro could only imagine what a few more years and much more maturity would do to it. Yes, he _could imagine. And he probably would. Later. In bed. While doing other . . . stuff. But now . . ._

"All right. Let's get this started." Evan vaulted over, landing nimbly on his feet. "Ready to go?"

"Been ready," Pietro replied shortly and gave his body a millisecond to adjust before they began their slow crawl around the track.

****

And the game begins! Soon ::cackle:: In the meantime, you know the drill. Review, if you please. And you please . . . don't you?


	9. Eight

**AN**: Yes, I know it's been forever, and I'm sorry, really. RL ickiness and Evan's exile from the show sort of took the wind out of my sails. But thanks to a way-cool, way-awesome artist named **Ranma**, I'm feeling the Evietro love once more. If you haven't seen this guy's art – go to my Evietro site RIGHT NOW and check him out. ::huggles Ranma:: Thanks for all who inquired about this story. I do want to finish, it just might take awhile. 

This chapter, of course, is for Ranma. Would not, could not have done it without you.

R/R if you please

~Eight~

Pietro let Evan set the pace, suspecting – correctly, as it turned out – that the blond would want to go a little faster than the punishingly sluggish trot to which Pietro had subjected himself. As they skirted the first curve and thundered down the straight path, Pietro was quiet, his mind turning over and discarding ways to open the contest. He knew he could stay silent until they got a few laps completed, and hope that the physical exertion would have worn Evan down a little by then. Or he could begin immediately, firing clues without pause and hope Evan became too confused to make head or tails of it all. 

Still undecided on which track to take, Pietro decided to just wing it, keeping in the same no-prior-thought theme that the "challenge" had been built on. Sizing up his opponent in a series of furtive glances, the speedster thought Evan seemed distracted. There was something off in his body language that didn't exactly suggest he _didn't want to be there, but indicated that his mind was somewhere else. More than the lack of real commentary – Pietro hadn't exactly expected a gabfest – there was an aloofness, a distancing, and every now and again, the hint of a smile. The body language was a little disconcerting, but it was that smile that gave the speed demon pause, and made him extremely nervous. _

"This might work a little better if talking was involved." Pietro grumbled, his voice roughened with denied fatigue. 

The blond shrugged, the dreamy smile becoming a little more pronounced. "Sorry. I was just thinking . . . ever hear of _that, Quickie?"_

"Obviously _you _haven't, Daniels, or we wouldn't be doing anyof this." 

Evan gave a dismissive snort, running the back of his hand across his forehead. "So how's your head, anyway?"

"My . . . head?" Pietro's voice was wary. Well that was . . .  random. He knew it was a little soon to expect their conversation to make any _sense, but __still –_

"Yeah. From last night." Evan glanced at him, his expression one of curiosity tempered with concern. "You sure you're okay? You've seemed kind of . . . weird. Even for _you._"

Pietro studied Evan from the corner of his eye, his stomach clenching as it dawned on him what Evan might be talking about. _FuckFuckFuck._ "What's _that _supposed to mean?"

And a second later, his fears were confirmed in the form of Evan's halting, "Um . . ._ you know. At lunch today–"_

Pietro briefly shut his eyes and allowed himself one last "_Fuck!_"_ before launching into defensive mode. "Look, Daniels. I don't know what you _think _you saw, but itwasn'twhatitlookedlike. There'snotanythinggoingon –"_

He ceased all movement – from his mouth to his toes – when he suddenly realized that Evan wasn't beside him any more. He was, in fact, _behind_ him. Almost the entire length of the _track _behind, and looking at him in stunned incredulity. Pietro looked down at his traitorous feet and kicked at the asphalt. 

_Fuck. The first time he'd ever lost his grip on his control – it would figure that it would happen while Evan was there. Pietro averted his eyes as he waited for Evan to catch up._ I'm in deep, deep, deep sh—__

"I thought you said wearing all that slowed you down," Evan fell back into step beside him. "You looked like a pile of laundry shot from a cannon."

Pietro pulled at the topmost shirt in disgust. All three garments were soaked through and weren't doing a thing at the moment except irritating him. "Forget it. Come on." He gritted his teeth, the hair at the base of his neck bristling. He had to keep calm, collected. Just be his usual five-hundred-steps-ahead self. He saw that as just about the only chance he had of getting through this ordeal with a shred of dignity and his brain intact. 

"Anyway, what I was _saying was that me and Lance were just fooling around –" He winced. __That didn't sound quite right, either. "__Joking around. It wasn't  anything . . . _weird._"_

He darted a glance at Evan, waiting for his reaction the news. The blond wasn't looking at him, and what little he could see of his expression was blank. Pietro wondered if Evan hadn't heard him or was just ignoring him, and was about to repeat himself when Evan spoke.

"Oh . . . um, yeah." Evan blew out a breath as they passed beneath the face of the field house clock. "Uh . . . whatever. I didn't think . . ." Evan trailed off, and Pietro fought hard to keep his breathing normal waiting for the hammer to fall, for Evan to call him a sick twitch, or a pathetic idiot, or . . . or . . . the whatever the nonsensical skaterboy putdown of the moment was.

But, "Whatever," was Evan's profound comeback. "You and Alvers . . . what you get up to, it's not  . . . like . . . it's any of my . . . business."

"I know _that," Pietro snapped, feeling suddenly disappointed. Far from sounding embarrassed, pissed, amused or hope-of-hopes, a little jealous, Evan merely sounded indifferent, as if finding adolescent mutant teen boys – one in a state of undress – in the halls of Bayville High was a common occurrence. That, and the way he said "whatever" made Pietro want to slap him repeatedly. "But if you've got ideas about telling any of your __friends, I wouldn't waste my breath." _

"Relax, Speedy. That's about the _last thing I'd want to do." Evan's tone was suspiciously sincere. "Besides, I really don't think you're his type, man." _

The voice was gently teasing, and Pietro glared at Evan's profile, marking a trembling of lips that threatened to bloom into a full-fledged smile. "Not _his _type? Like _I'd_ ever go for _him_. Too much of a headache." Pietro hesitated a moment before saying, in as casual a tone as his breathless voice could form, "Besides, I kind of have a thing for blonds . . ." 

For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was steady breathing and the solid slap of rubber soles on concrete. In the silence, Pietro quickened his thought processes a little, wondering just how open he was prepared to be that day. Something – either the incident with Lance or being so near a sweaty, panting . . .

. . ._ Delectable, sexy, sumpt– Okay. I'm stopping now . . .___

. . . running, half-dressed  Evan that was making him want to be reckless and carefree. He glanced over, trying to gauge the other teen's reaction to his words. Pietro was reasonably certain that Evan might miss the significance of the 'blond' remark, but he wondered if his rival would pick up on the slightly less oblique implication contained within his response – namely that he wasn't into Lance, but _not _necessarily because he was a _guy._ Pietro waited for a reaction.

And kept on waiting. Pietro braved a look to his right, vexed to see Evan giving his undivided attention to the fascinating row of dandelions that grew at the edge of the railing. The skater, Pietro noted, seemed strangely relaxed as they spun around the course, painting the ground with their footsteps, leaving a breadcrumb trail of sweatdrops. 

"Right," the blond returned faintly. "Some advice, Maximoff – you and Alvers might wanna find a better place to . . .  _joke around, next time. If somebody else other than me had seen you, you could really get jacked up, dude. At least I know how weird you can get sometimes."  _

"Thanks for the concern. But that was a one-time only thing. Shoulda brought your camera."  The speedster smiled grimly as the power-walkers exited the track, and soon, the park. Now the field was _truly clear. He picked up the pace a little. "What were _you_ doing in the hall anyway? Got tired of listening to Shades in lecture mode? He was boring __me from five tables away." _

"Needed something from my locker. I ran out of moo juice, and I –" 

"You keep _milk in there? So _that's _what that smell is."  Pietro grinned and leaned close, sniffing audibly. "I was wondering . . ."  _

"Screw you." They passed the main entrance to the park and soon left the starting line behind. First lap completed. "I was getting cash to buy more. It–"

"_Still _keeping your money in your locker?" Pietro's grin widened, and he ignored the cramp in his left calf. "Don't you learn?"

"Dunno, man." Evan spared him a knowing look. "Do _you?"_

Pietro's smirk became one-sided, and he squashed the onrush of memories from their former school and the events that led to Evan's, and ultimately his own, exile from the hallowed halls of PS 104. "Get over yourself, Daniels. Not _everything_ in my life revolves around _your_ locker. Sorry." 

At that, Evan gave him _The Disbelieving Stare_. Pietro parried with the_ I'm Telling the Truth look, throwing in the __You Can't Beat Me eyebrow-waggle for good measure. They swung round in a wide arc, several feet of distance separating them before the gap was closed a little, and they were side by side again, so close that Pietro could have reached out and traced designs in the sweat glistening on Evan's forearms. Resolutely, the speed demon kept his hands to himself._

"So, speaking of lockers, I heard you found something interesting in yours this morning," Pietro said, swerving to avoid a crushed beer can in his path. "Another letter?"

The speedster saw _that _smile spread across Evan's face again – dreamy, wistful, goofy. Unnerving. "Yeah," he panted. "This morning. I –" The smile made an abrupt departure. "Wait a minute – what do_ you_ know about it?"

"I have my ways." Pietro was smug as they cantered into the stretch for the second lap."So, you hold on to this one, or ya gonna use it to line the bottom of Fuzzfuck's cage?"

"I have it." Evan was staring at him, slowing down now that he didn't have his eyes on the track. "I'm serious, Quickie. How did you _know? Did she say something to you? "_

_She _again. Pietro felt the blood pulsing in his veins and felt himself sliding closer to the shadowy line in his psyche that divided 'Pietro' and 'Quicksilver.' Taking a deep breath, he slowed down, counseling himself _again to remain calm. He never thought this little arrangement would be, well, a walk in the park, so to speak, and he had to also be on guard for the possibility that Evan had, somehow, figured the whole thing out and was just baiting him now.  _

"Yeah, sure. How else _would I know?" Pietro muttered, his face toward the ground. "How else would _I _know?"_

"Uh . . . right. I guess." The slight hesitation made the silver-haired teen look up sharply, and he glanced into the darker-skinned teen's face in time to see a flicker of . . . _something light the dark eyes and the full lips wilt into a contemplative frown. Pietro studied the face avidly, and nearly howled in frustration when that flash of something deeper disappeared, replaced by a bland stare and an inane smile._

"It was cute. She was watching me board, this morning . . . before school. She was saying I looked cool."

"No taste _and_ no life." Pietro pushed wet strands of hair out of his eyes. "Some people are beyond help."

"That's a pretty . . . messed up way to talk about . . . your friend," Evan panted. "Dissing her . . . like that . . ."

"Yeah, well, it's justified. If you ever find out who this is, I'm sure you'll agree." There was a stretch of silence as they curved around the far end of the track. "So anyway, ready to start?" He gave Evan a two-second window in which to voice any objections or reservations. "Okay, good. First clue –"

"Wait . . . wait . . ." Evan piped up in second three. "We need to clear something up first – last night . . . you were serious about being straight with me about all this?"

"_I _. . ._ am going to be as __straight with you as I possibly can." Pietro framed the words sarcastically, expecting the double meaning to fly over his rival's head. A low chuckle from his companion, however, sent the blood rushing to the speedster's face, and Pietro gave a wary look to his right only to see Evan staring directly ahead, his expression, for the moment, unreadable. "I said I'd be honest, and I'm going to be, so stop stalling and let's get this started –"_

"I _know _what you said. It's just that . . . um . . . I think . . . I think I know . . . who she is." Evan's sneakers made odd, squishing sounds each time they hit the concrete. "And I wanna be sure that if it _is _her, you're not gonna snow me . . . because it would mean . . . the game'll be over. And I . . . win."

Pietro said nothing for a few moments, torn between the urge to laugh and tear every strand of his hair out one by one. "Daniels, there is nobody – _nobody ­_– who wants this stupid _challenge_ over faster than me. The time I'm wasting with you could be put to sosososososo_so much better use." _Like, um, thinking about you. Dreaming about you. Fantasizing about you. Wishing I could be what you want. _Pietro scowled and gave his shorts a vicious tug. They were sliding down his legs – of their own accord, this time. _Yeah _. . ._ there's more productive ways I could waste my time and drive myself crazy _. . . __and not have to be near you and listen to you talk about **she_ and _**her****__. "So if you think you know who it is, out with it. I could use a good laugh."___

"All right . . . I _almost_ don't wanna say anything because I'm a little curious about the "clues," but . . ." There was a slight pause – for heightened dramatic effect most likely, Pietro thought with a roll of his eyes. "Is it Amanda?"

Though it pained him to admit it, even to himself, but he'd been genuinely curious to hear whom Evan would name. It would, Pietro reasoned, give him a slight insight into the inner-workings – such as they were – of Evan's mind, _and _it would give him an idea of what type of _look _tripped the blond's wire. When they'd been at PS 104, Evan hadn't exactly been a 'ladies man,' nor could Pietro remember the spike shooter ever dating or crushing on anyone in particular, so he had no precedent on which to go on that indicated Evan's tastes. Pietro held out hope that if Evan at least seemed open-minded in some respects – body type, hair color, eye color, race, etc – about the people he tended to be drawn to, maybe he'd be open to other possibilities, as well. Though just because one might like a person with green eyes and streaked hair, it didn't automatically indicate gay tendencies in a person, but still . . . Pietro figured he had had to have _something _to base his hopes on.

But one tiny detail made all that, for the moment, moot: He had _no _idea who the _hell Evan was talking about._

"Amanda?" The thinner teen had half-expected Evan to name one of his X-Loser teammates – Kitty Pryde, maybe, or one of the newer recruits. There was a younger girl who apparently could become a moving lava lamp who seemed kind of hot – no pun intended. Pietro vaguely remembered Tabby saying something about being friends with this girl . . . Amy, was it? Amelia? Some 'A' name. "You're talking about the girl who can turn into a walking flamethrower?"

Evan looked adorably befuddled for a moment as they huffed into their next lap. "Oh, you . . . must mean . . .  Amara." He shook his head, swiping at the wetness on his cheeks. End of lap two, beginning of lap three. "Nah . . . I'm talking about _Amanda. _You know . . . uh . . . Amanda  . . . from math."

_Oh right. That clears it up. _Pietro shook off the numbing and disheartening realization that not only was Evan _not _reading between the lines of just about everything that had been said, written and/or done, but that his throwing out of this Amanda person's name seemed less of a guess and more like a desperate, flailing, "Oh pleasepleasepleaseplease let it be her!" 

"Daniels, wanna make this easy on yourself, there's one thing you _might _wanna think about doing . . ."

"Uh . . . what's . . . that?"

"_Use _your brain. It doesn't hurt. Really." Pietro's friendly 'advice' had the air of a command, but Evan's cutting glare indicated that the speedster had put just enough of a derisive spin on his words to make them seem an offshoot of his usual sarcasm. "I'm not _in _your math class, so telling me _she _is, is about as useless as those suck-ass powers of yours."

"She's not . . . in _mine_, either. She's in . . . Kurt's . . . Aren't you in his . . . class, too?" 

"Not when I can help it," Pietro muttered. "There's a billion better ways to waste my time – learning derivatives and functions don't even make the top 10 million."

As they raced down the straightaway, Pietro listened to Evan rasp for breath, and realized they had done a little more than four laps, albeit at a slightly slower clip than when they had started. A stealthy, assessing blue gaze noted the easy flex of Evan's calf muscles, the gentle ripple of Evan's forearms as they pumped in counterpoint to his strides, and the slight bounce to his steps. Despite the heavy breathing and the profuse sweating, Pietro could tell Evan wasn't too tired, and, likely, would not be for some time – or if he was, he'd never admit it. _So much for wearing him down.__ Pietro focused his gaze on the crabgrass that flourished beneath a canopy of lindens, marveling at how Evan's closeness was _not_ wreaking havoc on his senses as he thought it might. The speed demon chalked that up to frustration at the spike-shooter's continual obliviousness overriding the desire flared up whenever Evan looked his way. _

"Anyway, _I _don't know anybody named Amanda, so the answer's no. Good thing I'm in a generous mood – I _could _count that as one of your guesses, but I won't."  Pietro smiled blithely. "I know, I know. I'm way too softhearted for my own good. What can I say? It's not _nice _to be cruel to the mentally handicapped."

Evan muttered something beneath his breath that Pietro was sure _wasn't _a compliment. "You're  . . . serious? It's . . . it's . . . not her?"

"Don't be pathetic, Spykey." They reached the beginning of the course again, and Pietro could hear Evan's breathing becoming noticeably labored. "Everybody knows that the average high school girl'll try to latch on to upperclassmen, not the lowest common denominator. Which, I guess, you are regardless, but you being a bottom-feeding frosh does _not help."_

"I thought you said . . . you didn't know . . . her . . ."

"I don't." Pietro's eyes narrowed. "But I know the type."

"Well . . . I saw her . . . in front of my locker . . . and I thought . . ." Evan's next few words degenerated into unintelligible mumbling, and Pietro inched a little closer in order to hear him better. "Never mind . . . I didn't really think it was . . . her . . . just . . . a thought." 

"Daniels, you're hilarious. The last original thought _you had you probably left swirling in the toilet bowl." Pietro suddenly remembered the dark-haired girl he'd seen at Evan's locker earlier that day. He hadn't had a chance to get a close look, but if memory served, Pietro was sure it was the same girl in his pre-calc class who stared at Kurt Wagner with glazed apple eyes and a goofy smile. Pietro smiled bitterly, sure that the girl would run faster than he could if she knew about Wagner's furry little secret – or Evan's spiky one. __That's the type he goes for? Pietro wasn't conscious of a sense of jealousy as much as one of disappointment. That girl was so . . . ordinary. No sort of spark, nothing really to distinguish her from the legions of Bayville girls who were flower capris and charm bracelets. _

Pietro held his breath for a moment. Two. Three. Then let it out slowly . . . slowly . . . _slowly. "Daniels, wouldja do me a favor?"_

The suspiciously demure tone made Evan falter a few steps. "What . . . what is it . . .?" 

"See those broken bottles over there?" He nodded toward a pile of broken soda bottles that lay near the far end of the bleacher, glinting slickly in the fading sun. "Go and get me the big blue one . . . the one with the _reeeeal _jagged edge."

"What . . . for . . .?" Evan glanced at the pile, then at Pietro, his furrowed brow and the sweat snaking down his face making it seek as if he were trying to lift a heavy weight.

"'Cause . . . it looks _just sharp enough to for me to slit my wrists with." Pietro's saccharine tone became as steely as rebar. "I'd ask for one of your spikes, but they'd probably just scratch me."_

Evan's voice hardened to match. "Man . . . what is _your problem?"_

"_You.__ You and your lack of perspective are my problem. Daniels, get real; _you're _a nobodyin a place where all the somebodies aren't freaky little skateboard losers with bleached hair. You really think some vapid babe is going around wanting to play tongue-tag with _you_?" Pietro felt a fleeting remorse when he saw a flash of pain cross the dark face. But it was true, what he was saying. Bayville was nothing like New York City, where the individual ruled the day. Here, they measured normalcy with a goddamn yardstick – the one that tended to fall like a deity's judgment on those who fell short of the acceptability mark. _

"I told you I'd be honest and fair, and _you said you'd try to beat me. I'm doing you the courtesy of talking to you as if I thought you walk upright. So start __trying. Even you can do better than this." Pietro was quiet a minute. "The person who's panting after you isn't some giggly type who'd give their glitter lipgloss to go to the senior prom with some football asshole. __No." His voice became progressively lower, thoughtful. "This person . . . doesn't have a thing to gain by liking __you – in fact, this person could get knocked down a few rungs on the Bayville social ladder if it ever got around that _you're _what trips this person's wire. But this person . . . doesn't give a damn about what anybody else says or thinks . . . except you . . . what you think and what you feel is the only thing . . . this person cares about." He gave a depreciating chuckle. "Keeps 'em up nights. Pathetic." _

Evan said nothing for a few steps, then, "You're _sure this . . . is  . . . a . . . a  . . . friend of . . . yours?" _

Pietro raised a brow. He was expecting a response with a little more, well, _kick _to it. Maybe Evan _was _getting tired. "I said so, didn't I? Why?"

"You . . . just  . . . act like you can't stand . . . her . . ." Evan mopped sweat from his forehead. "The stuff . . . you . . . say . . ."

"I don't dislike this . . . person." Pietro mulled his next words before continuing. "I feel bad for 'em, actually – because _I think liking __you is gonna be one of the biggest mistakes this person ever makes."_

"Well . . . who cases what _you . . . think." Pietro looked over in time to catch the tail end of a fleeting smile. "You're not the  . . . one . . . who wants to  . . . date . . . me . . ."_

It wasn't the least bit amusing – not at all, really, because, Pietro knew, Evan was being as serious as it was in him to be – and that, in and of itself was a tragic thing, a cause for gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair. But angst and melancholy was difficult to do while perspiring, so Pietro laughed instead, guffaws jolting his body like sobs, for one full turn around the track.

Only when he became lightheaded and felt as if he were going to pass out did Pietro calm himself, simultaneously aware of Evan's half-frightened, half-skeptical glance. "Do I even _want to know what's so funny?"_

Fairly sure that the answer to _that was a resounding no, Pietro could only shake his head, uncertain in that moment of his ability to form sentences. After a happy moment during which oxygen was introduced to his brain cells again, Pietro said with more good humor than was appropriate, "And I thought this was going to be boring . . ." He grinned widely at Evan's skeptical glare. "Now do you want those clues or what?"_

Evan glowered at him a moment more. "S'what we're here for . . ."

Pietro gave the barest of nods. _Let the games begin then. "All right. Remember, you get one – _one _– follow-up question after every clue, and at the end of all of it, you get three shots at who the person is. Got it? Or do you need me to translate that into Dumbass?" Receiving no reply, Pietro watched Evan aim a thousand-mile stare straight ahead. "All right, fine. First: This is a person you see just about every day."_

Evan's head whipped toward the white-haired teen. "I  . . . _what? What's__ that . . . supposed to  . . . mean?" _

"You cross paths with _this person _just about everrryyyyyday. Weekends excluded." Pietro lowered his head, a sly smile curving his lips. "Sometimes."

The blond's expression didn't change. "Maximoff . . . I thought you said . . . this . . . wasn't gonna be . . . a waste . . . of time." 

 "It's a legitimate clue." Pietro whipped off his shirt and dabbed at his face before knotting the sleeves around his neck, letting the shirt billow behind him like a cape. "I tought you said Bayville wasn't _that _big a school. Figure it out. Who do you see everyday?"

"Lots of . . . people!" Evan spat the words out like a furball. "Can't you be . . . more specific . . .?"

"You get a follow-up question." Pietro was nonchalant, ignoring the scowl of the death Evan was aiming at him. "Ask one."

Evan was either rendered speechless by outrage or lost in thought, because he was quiet almost half-a-lap. The speedster ran easily, imagining he could hear the gears in Evan's brain whirring and clicking uselessly, like an empty revolver. 

"Do I . . . know . . . this person? Like . . . if I saw . . . 'em . . . right now . . . right here . . . would I recognize . . . them . . ."

The question caught Pietro off guard for two reasons – the first was Evan's use of _this person _and _they _instead of the dreaded _she. Pietro wasn't sure that meant anything of importance, however, since the blond had not indicated that he believed his admirer was anything _but _some twittering girl. But what also tipped the speedster over some was the question itself. It was . . . a _good_ one. He'd been primed for Evan to blunder into a "See her __where"-type query, in which case Pietro knew he could have given an accurate – and vague – answer without tipping his hand. But Evan's question – answered honestly – would eliminate a respectable chunk of the student body. Pietro knew Evan wasn't exactly a popular kid in Bayville, and his social circle, as it were, wasn't incredibly large._

"_Not _that I know every loser you talk to, but for what it's worth, the answer's yes. If this person were . . . with you right now," Pietro looked into the sweating face as he spoke, "you'd definitely recognize . . . who it was. And I'll tell you something else, just 'cause I _don't want to have to deal with this later: It isn't anybody you __live with . . . and it's not anybody on the basketball team."_

Of all the reactions Pietro anticipated might greet that tidbit of information, Evan's stumbling over his own feet was _not one of them. A pale hand shot out quick as lightning, and Pietro grabbed an arm to steady the younger teen. "Jesus, Daniels, lift your feet! This isn't ice-skating." Pietro raised a brow at Evan's pained expression, and noticed the sheen of perspiration dampening his forehead. "You're not getting _tired _are you? We've only gone a couple of miles."_

The blond shook his head. "I'm  . . . okay . . ." He glanced at his arm, still caught in Pietro's grip. "You can . . . let me go . . . now." 

Startled, Pietro removed his hand, flexing the fingers that had been wrapped firmly around Evan's biceps, marveling at the tingling sensation in his fingertips. "Anyway, there's your first clue. Someone you see –" He broke off when he noticed Evan giving him that same smacked-stupid look. "What _now_?"

"Uh . . . nothing . . . just . . . Why . . . would you say . . . it isn't someone on . . . the team." Evan drew a gasping breath. "Why . . . _would _ . . . it be?"

"Well, you see them every day, don't you?" Pietro felt the corners of his mouth twitch. "What are you complaining about? I'm helping you out. Be grateful."

"But . . . but . . . they . . . they . . . but . . . _why . . .?" _

Pietro turned to Evan and watched him struggle for breath and words, waiting for Evan to get find enough of both to express what Pietro was sure the blond was thinking. _What? They're what? They're guys? _Pietro's eyes dropped to Evan's trembling lower lip. _And why would guys be any part of this? Come on . . . think about it  . . . ask me why I brought them up . . . come on . . . comeoncomeoncomeon . . ._

Evan shook his head, his expression one of annoyed bewilderment, much like a person who had discovered cat piss at the foot of their bed and, in the midst of railing about it, remembered that they didn't _own a cat. "Never mind, forget it. What's the next clue?"_

_Hmmm.__ You are no fucking fun, Daniels. Pietro tried not to let his irritation show on his face. "Next clue: This person is . . . taller than you are."_

 "Yeah? Okay . . . um . . . How much . . . taller?" 

"Maybe a couple of inches . . ." Pietro gazed down at the top of the blond head. "Though your hair's so _high, it kind of skews the measurement."_

". . . Yeah . . . I need a  . . . trim . . ." Evan patted the back of his head. "I was thinking . . . about . . . maybe growing it out . . . getting it . . . braided . . .  what do . . . you . . . think?"

 "Bleach _and braids? That combo only works in the comics, Spykey." Picturing that look, Pietro was a little surprised that the idea didn't make him want to gauge his eyes out. "But I guess it wouldn't be the _worst _thing you could do to yourself." _

"Uh . . . thanks . . . I think . . .don't think . . . I'll do it, though . . . too much work . . ." He sprinted a few steps ahead, falling back after a moment. "So . . . what's next . . . ?"

Pietro gave the next hint a little thought. He knew that so far, he was not giving Evan much to go on, while still keeping within the parameters of their agreement. Small school or not, Bayville was bursting at the seams with slightly tall people – several dozen with whom Pietro suspected Evan was on a first-name basis. Perhaps, he mused, it was time to get _truly narrow the field a little. Noticing Evan continuing to caress his bleached locks, Pietro had a jolt of inspiration. "This person has . . . has . . . __light hair." _

"Light . . . hair . . .? _Light?"_

"_Light.__ Like yours . . ." Casually removing the baseball cap, the speedster slowly combed the bill through his snowy hair. "Or mine."_

Evan tilted his head slightly. "Like . . . blond?"

"_Like _blond?" As they sailed into another lap, Pietro wound his fingers in his hair, waving a few silver tendrils in Evan's direction. "Yeah . . . I guess you could say it's _like _blond . . ." _But not really._

"Uh . . . short . . . or . . . long . . . ?"

"Erm, sh—  hey, wait a minute! You had your one question!" Pietro gave himself a mental slap. _That was close. _"You asked me if it was _like _blond, and I gave you an answer."

Evan's eyes went huge. "Aw _man  . . . I just wanted . . . to understand what you . . . meant. . . I didn't know it would . . . __count."_

"I know it's easy for you to use ignorance as an excuse, Spykeboy, but it won't work here." Pietro smiled through Evan's sputtering attempt at a response. "Anyway, _next – _this _person _is  . . . older than you are."

This time, Evan didn't hesitate. "How much older?"

"A year, give or take a few moments." His stomach knotted at Evan's self-satisfied grin. Pietro imagined Evan thinking, _Wow, an older chick. _Score_! "Don't get _too_ excited, Daniels. __Older doesn't necessarily mean smarter – if this doesn't prove that, I don't know what will."_

"My auntie . . . says . . . girls mature . . . faster than  . . . guys . . . though . . ."

"Yeeeah, maybe, but _believe _me – that doesn't apply here," Pietro said dryly. "All right . . . last one – you have at least one class with  . . . this person." 

"Which –" Evan began, and then checked himself sharply, growing quiet. A minute passed, and when the blond next spoke, it was in a measured, cautious voice. "Wait . . . a minute . . . if she's a  . . . year older . . . then she's probably a _sophomore_ . . .  and I only have . . . two classes with . . . sophomores in 'em." He fell silent for another few strides. "So . . . if she is, then . . . she'd be in . . . Geosciences or . . . in . . . Euro . . .?"

_Fuck! Stupidstupidstupid! Of all the time for him to get sense. _Pietro berated himself for giving Evan such an opening. "Geosciences," Pietro muttered reluctantly. At least _that_ class was fairly huge, with almost an equal number of sophomores and freshmen – and more girls than guys. Also, he'd given himself a temporary out by saying mystery person was in at_ least_ one of Evan's classes – Pietro was in both the classes the skater had with sophomores, but the blond didn't seem to consider that possibility. Pietro wasn't sure, however, how long that would last. If Evan went through all the likely candidates in Geo, he might stop to think that this person was also in European History with him, too – and there were only about eight people, guys and girls both, that fit the bill there.

"And there's your five." Pietro slowed to a more moderate jog, which Evan matched immediately. "Now you get your three guesses at who it is." 

"Um . . . can I  . . . get back to you . . .?" Evan took slow, deep breaths, and hiked his shirt up just enough to wipe the sweat from his chin and expose enough mahogany skin to send Pietro into a near meltdown. "I don't know . . . too many girls in Geosciences . . . or names . . . or faces . . ."

"This isn't tic-tac-toe, Spykesnot. You can't _pass." Pietro rubbed the bottom of his neck. "Give me your three now, or you lose the chance. Period."_

"You're tryin' to psych me out, Maximoff, but it won't work." "I'll get it eventually. There's only so many girls in Geo."

"True. But we'll see how much good that does you." Pietro glanced around the park, frowning when he noticed a group of pot-bellied, wannabe runners trooping onto the field, all of them in matching mint polyester sweat-suits. _Great.__ There goes the neighborhood. "You suuuuuuure you don't want to make at least one guess?_

"Nah, that's okay. I wanna do this the smart way."

Pietro simply smiled in reply. Sometimes Evan gave him openings so easy that it became almost boring to take shots at him.

"That was some workout, man . . . more intense than coach and his wind sprints." Evan stretched his arms high above his head. "You do this every day?"

"Just about . . ." Pietro watched the group of newcomers advance from the far side of the park, each of them chatting easily with one another as they made their way to the wider part of the park and begin some sort of callisthenic-tai chi stretching exercises. They were a little too far away to really get a sense of what they were doing, but their presence was annoying. This was _his _unwinding place, and it was currently being defiled by slobs in pastels. _Time to wrap this up._ "Not all of us have stainless-steel playpens in our basement to vent our frustrations in."

"I don't know what Alvers told you, but there's nothing even funny about the Danger Room, Quickie. You wanna try it sometime, I'll spot you a few points – give you a head start. And if you don't get your face ripped off on the first run, then maybe I'll turn it all the way up to the candy-asssetting." Evan turned interested eyes onto his rival. "Venting your frustrations? Isn't this a little far to come just to blow off some steam?"

"Nothing's far for me," Pietro said tonelessly, staring down at his big toe poking through a tear in his sneakers. And it was true – for the most part. Though, he had to appreciate the irony that the only thing in the world that had ever appeared beyond his reach was currently barely an arm's length away. "Going slow . . . this is the about the only place anybody expects _me _to do that. It's a _challenge . . . and it passes the time." He wondered at that – it seemed impossible, but moving slow seemed to make the time pass quicker – at least, it did while he was in the park.  Maybe it had something to do with it being his _choice _to move at a crawl, whereas every place else, he was forced to do so._

"Um . . . yeah . . . I guess that's a point . . ." Evan looked up at the field house clock, and did a double-take. "Holy shit, it's almost 4:30! Damn – I've gotta go, dude. I'm already late, for, uh, something –" The blond broke for the railing, springing over it to get to his stuff on the bleachers. Pietro followed him slowly, a bit put-out that their time together was coming to such an inauspicious end. 

"Sorry to cut this short." Evan's voice was muffled as he pulled his hooded sweatshirt over his sweaty clothes and snapped on his skateboarding gear. "I totally lost track of time. Uh  . . . when do you want to do this again?"

"Tomorrow. Gotta keep this moving. There're other brick walls I need to bang my head against." Pietro forced his eyes away from Evan's ass as he bent to adjust his knee pads "Same time – after school." 

"After school tomorrow? I can't, man. I have practice tomorrow, then I've gotta go straight home." Evan said with what sounded like genuine regret. "Can you get away during lunch or something? Maybe we could meet up somewhere. I think we'd probably be able to find someplace quiet to talk."

Though the thought of a quiet tête-à-tête alone – alone! – with Evan seemed, well, yummy, for lack of a better word, after the lunchtime scariness that was Fred raising his voice and Lance making the ground do a little jig, Pietro thought better of sneaking away from the Brotherhood table. Though Todd would probably cover for him, the speedster thought it just as well not to risk it. 

"I've got a better idea. Get out on the court ten minutes before practice. We'll make it quick." Pietro smiled coyly. "And maybe I'll even keep my clothes on this time."

Evan looked confused for an instant, then grinned uncertainly when he took the speedster's meaning. "Uh . . . yeah. Might be a good idea not to get us both kicked out of school." He gave his rival a thoroughly friendly elbow nudge, hitting the still-sore spot on Pietro's arm, pulling back quickly at the speedster's wince.

"Damn, sorry, dude. I forgot that's where you got banged up. Oh yeah – here." Evan opened his backpack, and, rummaging in it for a few moments, took out a dark-blue T-shirt. "Almost forgot – I brought this for you."

Mouth hanging somewhere around his knees, Pietro simply . . . stared. If Evan had been holding out a severed hand, the speed demon doubted he'd be any more taken aback. "What . . . the hell is . . . _that for?"_

"Um . . . for yesterday. I told you I felt bad about what happened to your clothes." Evan place a foot on his skateboard, idly rolling it back and forth. "You wouldn't take money, so . . . here. It's _kinda_ new. I only wore it a couple of times. It's yours if you want it."

Pietro took hold of the shirt as gingerly as if it were a lit firecracker. "Great going, Daniels. Your dorkitude has been confirmed. Not that I should be surprised . . . there's nothing like X-Geek guilt. You'd probably give me the shirt off your back if I wanted it."

"Nah, probably not. It's all sweaty. You wouldn't want that." Evan shouldered his bag, and pushed off, his wheels displacing dirt and gravel and bits of glass. "Anyway, see you tomorrow." 

Pietro was quiet as he watched Evan leave, passing the recently returned Bathrobe Guy, rolling, it seemed, in the direction of downtown Bayville. He was tempted to follow the blond, and see just what appointment was so important that he'd get jumpy about being late for it. After a second, Pietro dismissed the urge – it was likely some boring X-Geek exercise – not worth the expending the shoe leather to sniff around and cause a little well-intentioned mayhem. 

Bringing the shirt to his face, Pietro gingerly pressed his nose into the fabric and inhaled slowly. It seemed as if it had been freshly washed, detergent and hot air apparently having obliterated any Evan-essence it might have once contained. Still, Evan _had _worn it . . . and had given it to him – to _him. Out of . . . guilt. That was  . . . odd. Pietro knew he could inspire in Evan a sense of rage . . . humiliation . . . inferiority, even. But __guilt? Pietro didn't think steering Evan toward that particular emotion was in his repertoire. Strange at it was . . . it was also a little promising. _Hmm . . . wonder what _else__ I could make him feel . . . He grinned at the possibilities, noting that many of them would prompt guilt – especially in certain religious orders._

Quick as a flash, the shirt was folded and stowed in his backpack, sequestered from his own sweat-soaked clothing. His work was, for the time being, done – but Pietro was conscious of a pesky sense that something was _off _somewhere – that there was something just on the edge of his vision that with a little more introspection, he'd be able to figure out. The events of entire day, actually, deserved a _lot of thought. But that would have to wait. The time had once again come for Pietro to leave his haven and slip back into the persona he knew – the _life_ he knew. _Time to become the wind again._ And in less than a second, he was._


End file.
